The Tale of Adelaide III
by lilBlueDragon
Summary: FINAL INSTALLMENT! Adelaide is up to her ears in oliphaunts, giant spiders, Elven love, and green ghosts. And with the King of Gondor standing there with adoption papers in his hand, it looks like Middle Earth wants its favorite tween to stay for good.
1. A Precious Moment

THE TALE OF ADELAIDE III

**Ladies and Gentlemen…this is the third installment of the "Adelaide" trilogy, an my personal favorite out of all three of 'em. Read, Enjoy, and Review.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing and nobody except Adelaide. **

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Chapter 1

A Precious Moment

You know, running dreams had positive potential. They got you into the thick of the action without anyone ever noticing, and you rarely got hurt. You could observe, participate, and come back to certain white wizards with glowing, fascinating reports about past, present, and future…well, maybe not the future. But Running Dreams were very nice.

Except when they popped up unwanted, damn it. That drove Adelaide nuts.

She knew, from the moment she opened her eyes, that she was not in Edoras, where her body was supposedly trying to sleep with all the snoring Eowyn did. Instead, she was laying in a grassy field beside a rushing river. An ant tickled her ear. The sun was warm and bright. Ah, she was in the past, in the Shire, and at any moment, now, Frodo would pop out from behind a tree, rush over, lift up her skirts, and fuck her senseless…ooho, yes!

It took Adelaide a while to realize that she was not in the Shire, and Frodo was not going to come and satisfy her natural womanly longing.

She groaned and sat up. Blinking in the sunlight, she tried to stand up, but ended up falling back down on her ass.

"Hot damn and a half!" she muttered. "That was my tailbone."

She stood up again, and blood rushed from her head to her body. Immediately she felt the dizziness and the cramps and cracker jacks, and whatnot, but it was only a passing thing, and she finally stood up strong, with clear vision. She first surveyed her surroundings.

It sure wasn't Elf territory. By now, Adelaide was familiar with Elvish homelands, and they would never settle out here. But it wasn't anywhere around a man-city, either. It seriously looked like the Shire. But did hobbits live by the water? Surely not! They couldn't swim.

Unless…

Adelaide grimly remembered reading about the race of Stoors, a breed of hobbit that was bigger, stronger, and enjoyed watercraft. She also knew that there was one possible fictional factor that would ever induce her to go running off in a dream to visit Stoors.

Gollum. G-man himself.

"Oh, shit," Adelaide muttered. And yet, why would Gollum lurk around all this sunlight? Maybe she had gone so far into the past, that Smeagol had not yet found the Ring! Perhaps this was the very river in which the wretched thing lay…

Adelaide's eyes widened.

If this was true…

Holy shit and a half. She had a chance to change things now! With one dive, she could go into the water, search for a while, and when she found the Ring, she could take it elsewhere, and save Frodo the trouble, and everyone the burden, and things like that…Should she? Could she? Adelaide hesitated. What would Aragorn say? For the love of Pete, what would Gandalf say? Or Elrond? Something had to be done! Or did it? Was it her place to change the future, when she herself knew that all would turn out for good, anyway?

But then, she thought, there'd be no exciting Bilbo Baggins adventure with the dwarves. There'd be no Council. She would have never met Frodo…or Legolas.

_Screw it_, she thought. Let the damn thing lay. It wasn't her place to fuck with what was meant to be, even though the temptation to shorten the story was tempting.

A stick snapped behind her, and Adelaide whirled around to find herself face-to-face with a Stoor. A very attractive one, at that. He had a mop of brown hair, large brown eyes, and a strong, confident face. He looked very surprised to see her there, and Adelaide suddenly realized that she was still wearing a nightgown. They stared at each other for a few minutes.

_Holy shit, he can see me. This is no ordinary running dream. It's like I'm meant to actually meet… _

The Stoor extended his hand. "Hello!" he said. Adelaide was reminded of Merry's voice, only deeper, richer, and not quite as strong in the accent. "Who are you?" he asked. "Never saw you before."

"Uh, my name's Adelaide," she responded. "Yeah. Adelaide. I uh, lost my way through the, uh, forest."

"Did you?" he asked, raking her with his curious gaze. "Odd. Never heard of someone from these parts losing their way in the forest. Everyone knows it."

"Well, I'm not everyone, so there," Adelaide huffed. Then she softened. Being rude would get her nowhere. "I'm pleased to meet you…?"

"Oh, how silly of me. Sorry. My name's Deagol. I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, Adelaide."

* * *

It was but a whisper of the masterpiece, and yet Adelaide found herself as fascinated as she might be if faced with Elvis or John Wayne. She bit back the urge to leap on him and ask for an autograph. She was in a new territory, now. But unlike the many times when Adelaide found herself in a strange new worlds, Adelaide decided to be polite, humble herself, and act like a proper hobbit lass. She had pulled it off well in the Shire. Now she was going to pull it off again here, wherever "here" was.

"I'm sorry for startling you, but I wanted to see if you were Elvish," Deagol apologized. "But you aren't an Elf at all." He seemed disappointed. "So, where're you from?"

"Nowhere in particular. I roam around."

"Really! I say, I wish I could do that. I tried running away from home once. Didn't work."

"Why not?"

Deagol laughed. "Our matriarch. My friend's grandmother. She keeps us in line with a rod. The first time I tried, I got whacked." He laughed, and then sobered. "But I don't know why I'm telling you this," he said. "I don't even know you all that well. You'd better come with me. Maybe my friend's grandmother can put you at rest with our community. You'd at least have shelter for the night," he said kindly. "Don't want you staying out here alone. Come on."

Deagol's residence was a vast connection of holes and tunnels, like an underground prairie-dog system. It was crude and less elegant than the enchanting, cozy holes of the Shire. There were few windows and wooden doors. The passages were solid-packed dirt walls, with a few rural sketches and torches hanging along the way. Adelaide felt like Thumbelina in Mr. Mole's home.

Deagol led Adelaide to a large, brightly-lit room. It seemed more comfortable and rich than the other rooms, with good woodwork, soft mats, and the necessaries of a woman's toilet. A fire lit up one corner of the room, and an elderly hobbit lady sat in a rocking chair next to it. Deagol approached the old lady and touched her shoulder. She gave a jump, and looked up at Deagol with angry eyes. But upon seeing the young lady at his side, her eyes relaxed, and became merely questioning.

"Deagol, my love, who is this you have brought me?"

Argh. It ran in the family.

"This is Adelaide, granny," said Deagol.

"Adelaide who?"

"She didn't say her last name."

At that, "granny" got upset and nearly knocked Deagol over. "Shame on you!" she cried. "Don't you know that it is impolite to introduce a strange girl to me without knowing her last name?"

Adelaide stepped forward, wanting no kind of fight whatsoever. "My name is Adelaide Baggins, and this gentlehobbit was kind enough to bring me into the shelter of your home." That was the proper saying among hobbits.

"You are not a Stoor, my dear!" she said gently. "But you aren't a hobbit either! What are you?"

"If you please, ma'am, I am but ten and five years of age, recently come from over the mountains to visit my grandparents in the south. I am a child of men."

"I didn't know the children of men ran around in their nightshifts," the old woman sniffed. "It's disgraceful. Come here, I say." She put a claw beneath Adelaide's chin and forced her to look up. "Now, look at me well. Are you afraid of me?"

Adelaide was so glad Frodo had forced her to take care of old Mrs. Curdle before her death. Lessons about a matriarch came in handy here.

"I'm respectful, ma'am."

"Hm, so you should be. I am one hundred and fifty years old, and not likely to die anytime soon, so you can stop thinking that I'm a doddering old woman who has lost all her wits. You're polite, at any rate. You'll stay as long as you need."

Dinner was extremely solemn. Adelaide had never met such untalkative creatures before, although they made quite a racket when eating. Fish juice splattered in her face, and she wished she were a thousand miles away. But after dinner, granny took her hand and led her around, introducing her to members of the family. There was no set bedtime, and everyone could retire when they wished. Adelaide was kept up late into the night, talking and socializing until at last, granny pounded her stick on the floor and pulled a Stoor out from the shadows, where he had been hiding.

"Smeagol!" she scolded. "Where have you been, eh? Hiding all this while! Did you meet Miss Baggins, eh?"

_Baggins, we hates it forever…hm, I should have picked a different last name. _

He actually looked quite charming. There was a different air about him; where Deagol was handsome and confident, Smeagol was only mildly cute and shy. But his eyes were constantly roving around, and he made quick, jerking spasms every so once in a while. He picked up Adelaide's hand, and she resisted the urge to pull away. Why! His hand was warm and smooth, with long, clever fingers that melded with strong palms, and well-muscled arms. He was a person, not a thing, not a Gollum.

Adelaide smiled at him. Smeagol smiled back. And Adelaide realized, at that moment, that it was going to be very, very hard to ignore this inquisitive, interesting person.

Adelaide was allowed to stay for as long as she liked, and was given a small room to herself. She secretly thought that the old granny was somewhat amused by her, and wanted to keep her from going anywhere for as long as possible, and she didn't mind. She wanted to use the time wisely, to learn about the Stoors, and to educate herself in Smeagol's background as best as possible. She threw herself into her role and imagined herself back at Bag End, doing the same sort of things she had done once before: sew, clean, cook, bake, and spin. She learned how to fish from the little boats the Stoors kept, and how to dive deep into the river for freshwater clams and crawfish. She took long walks through the forests, and kept mental note of the surrounding trees, rocks, mountains, and other natural landmarks.

She also decided to go out of her way to make friends with Smeagol. Since Deagol had been the one to find her first, he was always at her side, and claimed her as his special friend. But she wanted to get to know his buddy Smeagol better. After all, he was Tolkien's masterpiece. Who else could have ever brought such a fascinating and horrifying creature to life but the master himself?

Smeagol was shy, however, and Adelaide rarely saw him. He preferred to be alone, often, unless Deagol invited him out somewhere. He seemed a perfect introvert.

"Deagol," said Adelaide, as they walked through the forest. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Well, what?" he returned. The day was marvelously beautiful, and he had an equally beautiful girl next to him, with her arm in his. What could she want to ask?

"About your friend," she said. "Smeagol. He's awfully quiet. Why doesn't he talk a lot?"

"Oh, him," said Deagol, laughing. "If you saw us together, you'd never think of him as quiet then. He can be a real chatterbox sometimes. But mostly in public he's very quiet. He doesn't like a lot of people around. I'm one of the few he'll talk to."

"But why?"

Deagol scratched his head. "Well," he said, businesslike. "I don't know. I guess he was born that way. His mother died when he was young, and I don't ever recall his father. There was talk of rape, you know."

Adelaide didn't like the sound of that.

"Anyway" continued Deagol. "He's shy. That's all there is to it. When he does try to talk, it's rather funny-sounding. Might be a birth defect. That happens, sometimes. One of my ears is pointed the wrong way. I was teased about it forever. But Smeagol is a little different. Notice how he likes roots and things like that?"

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Strange, some call it. I think its just Smeagol. We all have our likes and dislikes. Smeagol is odd. He had a very hard time trying to find a girl for himself. He doesn't have one yet. He's amazingly strong, but none of the girls think he's handsome." Deagol laughed. "Do you think so?"

"Hum? If he's handsome? I…I haven't really noticed anything dislikable about him."

Deagol suddenly stopped and pulled her to him. "Do you think _I'm_ handsome?" he asked, very seriously. Adelaide inwardly rolled her eyes and blew out her breath in a whoosh. This wasn't fair at all. But there was a way to answer it. Rosy Cotton had taught her.

"Bless me! But you do talk so sweet, and me just a little ol' girl, and all!" she teased in her best hobbit-fashion. "I don't know what my father would say if he could see me now. Get on with you, and don't tease me like that!"

Two days later, Adelaide stumbled upon Smeagol as he sat by the riverbank. He turned sharply at her footsteps, and she pulled up sharply, staring at him. He stared back, not moving, like a deer in headlights. Then Adelaide sat down where she was, pulled open a book, and started reading, her eyes flicking up every so once in a while to watch him. He was curious, and curious people can never resist an investigation.

Nevertheless, her skin crawled when he came to stand beside her. She didn't dare look up now. Smeagol sat down beside her and stared at her, until she finally lifted her head and met his eyes squarely. She didn't have to be afraid, and yet she felt terrified. Those long, strong fingers were twitching, and would be used in the near future to kill and murder. His eyes were large, like twin, empty orbs waiting to suck up all the information they could about life and the surrounding world.

Adelaide put a hand over her chest. Her heart was racing.

"What do you want?" she croaked. Smeagol said nothing, just stared at her. His nose twitched.

"I forgot your name," Smeagol said quietly. Adelaide did a double-take. He sounded weird, not using the first and third person.

"Adelaide," she replied, putting out a hand for him to shake. The Stoor picked it up and kissed it gently. Her stomach turned over inside. But before she could say anything else, there was a rustling in the bushes, and Smeagol was on his feet, dashing away through the trees in the opposite direction. Adelaide leapt to her feet as Deagol came strolling through the woods. He smiled at seeing her.

"Hi, Adelaide! Why, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost. Are you alright?" He resisted the urge to sweep her up and hold her in his arms. No, that wouldn't do at all. Adelaide tried to be casual, though she trembled.

"N-n-nothing in particular. I just stumbled across Smeagol, and he startled me, that's all."

"Oh, he was lying in wait, eh? He does that, sometimes. This is his favorite place. Here, sit down. Mind if I join you? Let's talk about—"

"Birthdays," Adelaide said quickly. "When's yours?" She had to know. Had to find out.

"My birthday? I had mine months ago. Smeagol's is coming up, soon."

"Oh. Uh, what do you think he'd like for his birthday?"

Deagol considered this. "I have an idea," he said. "But I'm not telling anyone. I want it to be a surprise for him. Why do you ask?"

"Um, I'd like to get him something."

"Oh, Adelaide, I don't really know what you could give him that would make him happy. We don't give a lot of presents at birthdays. Smeagol doesn't need much. He likes to root around. Maybe you could get him some weeds, or something."

"What about a…er, you know, a ring?"

"A ring! What would he do with a ring?"

"Gosh, I don't know…heh, maybe call it 'precious' and go live in a cave for a thousand years. He seems like the type that would like rings. Solid gold rings."

"Granny has all sorts of rings she could give him. But that's silly!" Deagol jumped up. "Three days until his birthday, Adelaide. I think we'll go fishing. Want to join us?"

Adelaide suddenly felt sick.

"Sure."

Gandalf would probably like details, if she ever woke up from the running dream.

* * *

For the next two days, all Adelaide could think about was the dreaded birthday. She considered really diving into the river, getting the ring, and sparing Deagol a strangling act, but there seemed to be no alternative. She didn't want to hurt history, but neither did she want to get stuck out here in Stoor-land with a mad, murdering Stoor about to turn into Gollum. She felt sick and afraid.

She also saw little of Smeagol, which suited her fine. She could feel in her body that the running dream was drawing to a close, and now she itched with impatience to leave the past behind and return to the present. She felt anxious, irritable, and sick, as in, like, GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE BEFORE I KILL SOMEONE OR BARF ALL OVER GRANNY'S STUPID HOLE!

So, Adelaide was miserable.

But not quite as miserable as the day of Smeagol's birthday.

The very night before, Adelaide was out walking in the forest when she stopped dead. Smeagol was sitting by the riverbank, not saying anything, just looking out over the water. Adelaide pulled back and watched him from behind a tree.

_Cold be hand and heart and bone_

_In trembling fear when far form home_

_Can you not see what lies ahead_

_When sun is gone and moon is dead!_

Adelaide nearly screamed as Deagol snuck up on her and grabbed her from behind, clamping a hand over her mouth. "Shh-hh!" he grinned. "Hey, I've caught an Adelaide."

"Let go of me, you idiot!"

"Well? How about it? The moon is full, this is a nice, soft path of grass we're standing on, and I'll wager I could do you proper, if you want—"

Adelaide broke his grasp easily and shoved him as hard as she could. Deagol stared at her in shock.

"What the devil's got into you?" he asked.

"What the hell do you think I am, anyway…a teenage whore?" Adelaide's body prickled with distaste.

"Aw, come on! You gave me all the signs…taking long walks in the woods, grinning at me across the table…I thought you wanted some." Deagol stared at her. "You are the strangest person I've ever met. You're the only lass who won't sleep with me, and you're always off by yourself. Considering the fact that there's so much more to do here than out there, I'd think you were crazy!"

He leaned against the tree. "In fact, I think you _are_ crazy," he declared. "I've been wondering about you ever since you came, and now I'm sure that you're not from anywhere that I know of—not even the mountains. Folk who come from there are dwarves, I'm told. You're no hobbit, you're no dwarf, and you're not a human child. I don't know what you are, or who you are, but you're beginning to scare me. And on top of that, you've been asking me a lot of questions about my friend, Smeagol. Now you're disappearing off into places where I can't find you. I think you're sneaking off with him! I think you love him! In fact, I think you've done more than that, I think you—"

Adelaide moved swiftly, pinning him up against the tree, jabbing a sharp stone at his throat. She was tired, irritated, frightened, and very stressed. And she didn't feel like masking anything anymore.

"Alright, you little pint-sized bastard. You want to know the truth? The truth is that I'm stuck here in the past by some strange magic that even I don't understand. I'm a human woman having a very bad nightmare. And I don't need you or any other motherfucking idiot sneaking up on me in the dead of night and trying to get a cheap fuck out of the deal. Got it?"

She relaxed her hold, and Deagol breathed a sigh of relief. "But…but that's impossible. You're crazy. No one can go backwards into time."

"Well, I can, so I'll make this good. Something's going to happen tomorrow, something awful. Don't go fishing, for the love of Christ, stay away from the river and don't go fishing!"

"Why not? It's all arranged, and Smeagol is already happy about going."

"Alright then, fine. But if you happen to go swimming, don't pick up anything shiny in the water, alright?"

"You are strange! What's all this for?"

"Shut up and listen! You can't do it. Shiny objects have more…uh, dangerous components to them. Don't pick anything that glitters, shines, sparkles, or the like up. Alright?"

"Adelaide—"

"And if you do," hissed Adelaide. "Give it to Smeagol. Alright?"

Deagol looked at her as if she was losing her mind. "What! After I found it? Adelaide, I think that's unfair! Finders keepers!"

"You…!"

Adelaide was frantic. Deagol wasn't listening. But it was too late to recall what she had said. She could not tell him more.

Holy shit, even if she wanted to spill the beans, it was impossible.

* * *

The day of the birthday party was sickening. Adelaide left the hole and stayed out in the forest, reading a book. She had no intention of going anywhere near the river. Unfortunately, Deagol managed to find her, despite her efforts at hiding away. She explained that she was feeling sick, but Deagol wouldn't take no for an answer, and dragged her back to the hole, where she ate a bit of bread and felt like shit the entire time all the congratulations and gifts were beings passed around. Smeagol looked happy and content, like a normal hobbit should, and Adelaide managed to look once at him. It wasn't fair, that such an easily-pleased chap should fall prey to the Ring.

In the afternoon, Deagol and Smeagol dragged Adelaide on down to the river for a picnic and some fishing. And every step brought her closer to that hour of doom. That turning point in history. That terrible moment of life.

Argh.

Deagol and Smeagol had a little boat made out of rushes, and it was this that they paddled about in and fished when they so desired to. It was a little small for three, so Adelaide conveniently decided to stay on the shore and watch them. Her heart pounded, and blood rushed to her head. The running dream was dragging out, taking too long to end. Why could she not wake up? She felt herself thrash inwardly, even as her body thrashed in the bed at Edoras, longing to burst out of the nightmare.

It had been a good day for the most part. Deagol had given his friend a very expensive gift (none of your business), more than he could afford, in fact. Smeagol had gotten a present from his granny, one from Deagol, and another from his distant cousin, three presents total. Adelaide was still hoping that perhaps Deagol would listen to her about the Ring. Frodo and Gandalf had once told her never to touch that damned thing, but such advice seemed so useless now. There was a murder to prevent! There was a life to save; something had to be done! If only Deagol would listen to her…

She got up and began to walk around in a state of agitated nervousness.

The sun climbed higher in the sky.

It mocked her.

_Think of something, you ninny! Sports, football, that cute quarterback in high school, his girlfriend Tiffany (what a dumb name, anyway), strawberry milkshakes, afternoon cookies in the sun, kayaking, seeing humpback whales in the fjords of Alaska, tourists, T-shirts that mock tourist season, sneakers, sweaters, Christmas, the time Frodo and his friends tried to put up a Christmas tree in the hole, Sam playing Santa Claus, his gardens, Bag End, the Shire, hobbits, Stoors, Gollum…_

Oh FUCK.

There was no breeze.

The sun continued to laugh.

It seemed liked hours before both Smeagol and Deagol came out of the boat for lunch. The whole time, Adelaide tried to steer the conversation towards the weather. Dear, but it looked like rain. Deagol snorted. Nonsense, the clouds wouldn't reach them until dark. Well, the wind was certainly picking up. And was that lightning in the distance? Deagol chuckled. That was only the sun flashing on the water. Adelaide, your head's muddled.

"So, Adelaide, did you think of something to give Smeagol?" Deagol asked cheerfully.

"No."

"Aw, come on. Did you find him that ring you were talking about? She wants to marry you, Smeagol," Deagol laughed, and Adelaide shot him a look of pure loathing before turning her gaze to Smeagol. He wasn't laughing; he wasn't even looking at her or Deagol. He was staring down into his lap, where a small caterpillar was crawling along his leg. His ears had registered nothing of the conversation.

Adelaide suddenly felt pity well up in her heart, the same kind of pity that Bilbo would feel in the future. Smeagol was not bad; he just had a habit of startling people and looking particularly weird. It wasn't his fault! He loved nature and life; he was curious about these things, and didn't give a rat's ass about girls, marriage, rings, politics, world hunger, or gossip. He was simple.

Adelaide hated to think that such simplicity would be taken away from him and replaced by meanness. She leaned over to remark on the caterpillar.

"Aw, it's cute, isn't it?"

All at once, Smeagol looked down at her and smiled.

* * *

The two Stoors were fishing.

In the boat.

On the river.

Adelaide watched them. Smeagol had a worm in his hands already, and he was looking at it with interest, before he finally impaled it, with brutal savagery, upon the hook. Deagol, who was already fishing, saw nothing of the barbaric audacity. But Adelaide felt sick. Images swayed before her mind: Deagol, Smeagol, the hazy river suddenly mirroring the dead marshes, with lidless eyes and open mouths, bloody wounds and broken necks, throats squeezed until the pharynx had popped. Sweaty heads, kicking feet, and terrible, angry eyes. She saw a thousand images in that moment, and her head spun.

Now…the moment was coming. Somehow, she could feel it. It was upon her heart and body like a weight of a thousand pounds, and her heart still fluttered.

Getting to her feet, shakily, she turned, and ran. She had to. She ran straight back into the forest, and continued to run until she could safely vomit behind a tree.

* * *

Off in the boat, Deagol felt the rod twitch at the end, and like nerves, it sent messages to his brain, alerting him to the bobber in the water. It was bobbing, true to its name, up and down, like mad, and suddenly, Deagol felt the great tug of a gigantic fish on the end of the line. His face broke out into a cheerful smile, and then it widened as he felt the rod bend. Oh, but it was huge! Gigantic! Something surely to take home for dinner!

In his excitement, Deagol sputtered out, "Smeagol! Look! Look! I got one! I have a fish!" And when Smeagol turned to him, his face mirrored the same excitement, the same ferocity of the hunt, and the same expectations. This was high praise indeed. They had been out all of that day, and this was the first bite out of all those long hours. They forgot the frailty of the boat beneath them, and as they laughed and whooped, Deagol nearly stood up, forgetting, in the excitement, that you never stand up in a boat.

As a result, the fish, which was indeed a prize, had the better handle on the situation, and pulled Deagol, line, rod and all, into the water, rocking the boat terribly, but leaving Smeagol in, and safe. Fearfully he looked down into the water. Where had Deagol gone to? Was he going to drown?

"Deagol!" he called desperately. "Deagol!"

No answer.

* * *

From in the woods, Adelaide heard the pathetic calls of Deagol, and she knew exactly what had happened. She stayed put, and tears squeezed out from between her eyes. She was terrified of moving, and terrified of staying.

Under the surface of the sun-lit water, shining with the sheen of a thousand glistening diamonds, Deagol was pulled along by a hug fish intent on getting away. He had forced open his eyes, now, for the rush of water was subsiding, and so he knew that at last the fish had broken free. But he did not surface. Not yet. Something had flashed among the weeds and the mud, and he had seen it. Ignoring the storm which was rising in Adelaide's breast, he reached out and grabbed at it, half-blinded. He felt mud and something solid in his palm. The anticipation was throbbing in his chest, but so was the lack of oxygen. He swam, with large and steady strokes, to the surface, and broke the water, gasping for breath, quite near the bank of the river. Here there was the beginning of the forest, and as he broke, he gasped for air, water dripping off of him.

Adelaide heard the gasping and bit her lip. Deagol had more than likely broken the surface of the water, and now he was probably…

As Deagol sat in the grass, trying to regain his composure, he looked down at his clenched fist, grimy with mud and weeds. Dimly in the background, he could hear Smeagol calling his name, frantically, but he ignored it. He opened his fist.

There, in his palm, lay a gloriously golden ring, shining in the sun.

Deagol gasped and rubbed the mud off of it, looking at it and turning it round in his palm. His heart was glad, as it flashed before his eyes, shining like a golden star even in the morning light. He almost caressed it; forgot about almost drowning; forgot Smeagol; forgot Adelaide; forgot everything except the lovely thing in his palm.

But suddenly, behind him, there was Smeagol, leaning over his shoulder. His friend had run all the way over, frantic to know if Deagol was safe, and now he was worried that his friend had gone deaf. But as he peeked over his shoulder, he suddenly saw something that smote his heart with the same love, the same lust, and for a moment, his brain went blank, as he stared at that lovely thing.

What was going on? Why weren't they fighting yet? How long would she have to wait? Her stomach turned again. She should run out, grab the damn thing, fling it back into the water, help them both, never let them see it…

* * *

"Give that to us, Deagol my love," hissed Smeagol, sounding an awful lot like the creature he would become. Deagol turned to him, a look of confusion and anger on his face.

"Why?" he demanded.

"Because it's my birthday, my love, and I wants it," hissed Smeagol, his face becoming more and more like a snake's, his eyes glinting, and his teeth flashing.

Oh God, those words! Adelaide hunched over. She did not want to hear.

_Wake up!_

_Wake up!  
Adelaide, wake up!_

_Wake up!_

Deagol stood. "I don't care," he said, sulkily. "I have already gotten you a present, more than I could afford. I found this, and so I'm going to keep it."

Smeagol straightened up, facing Deagol, his face a pure mask of smiling lies. He tried to get around Deagol to perhaps sneak the precious thing out of his hands, but Deagol blocked him. And ever, he kept the Ring close to his chest, looking intimidating down at Smeagol, who was smaller than he. Smaller, but more cunning, and stronger.

"Oh you are indeed, my love!" he hissed at his friend.

* * *

Adelaide couldn't stand it. The only way to get out of the dream was to face it.

She started to run back in the direction of the river, tears half-blinding her sight, running and stumbling over logs and such things. Already she could hear a hissing and sounds of a scuffle. Her stomach broiled; her brain fizzed, and her limbs almost refused to work, but her whole body moved, and she ran.

Deagol and Smeagol began to fight, each grappling for the Ring, and their hands grasping clothing, hands, necks, anything they could get a hold on. Back and forth they went, Deagol first in the offensive because of his size, and then Smeagol because of his strength. And all this time, Deagol had to fight with one clenched fist, because he wanted to keep it safe. His whole body was rigid, as things will be in a fight between males, and his face was pure rage. Smeagol kept a serene face, but every now and then he broke into a ferocious snarl, and he clawed desperately at his friend/foe.

Under the sun they continued to struggle, hair getting in the way of sight, sweat building up under hot clothing, and limbs growing weak on either side. At last, somehow, Smeagol grasped Deagol by the throat, getting the upper hand of the fight, and slowly began to choke the life out of his friend, who was hiding the thing from him.

_There was something beautiful in the way he was taking a life. To know that he was taking it; it was delicious in a sort of way. _

_He felt the bone beneath his fingers, and the warm flesh. He felt the life-throb of his friend's vein, and felt too, the curious bob in the throat that always bobbed when drinking or eating. His fingers curled tighter. Where was it? He wanted it. The beautiful gold, the precious gold! Where was it? He wanted it, Deagol ought to give it to him; why was he not giving it to him?_

_Tighter and tighter his fingers curled, feeling ever the squeeze of flesh. Deagol choked and tried to pound upon him, trying to get him to stop, but then his hands flew to his throat, trying desperately, with every muscle and determined will, to pry to vice-like fingers from his life-throb. He could not die! He did not want to die! Frantic desperation took over, as he felt the noose on his life tighten with every clench of those fingers he had thought belonged to a friend. _

_Those fingers had shook his hand nearly every day. Those fingers had touched his shoulder friendly-like. Those fingers had belonged to a gentle, harmless person. Harmless? Smeagol had lied, everything was a lie. _

Adelaide heard a choking, gasping cry for help. Her legs were like jelly. Her whole body felt as if it were on fire.

_Tighter, and tighter, those fingers drew. With every beat of his heart, he bent his foe to the ground, laying him flat, and working, sweating, inching his fingers into the flesh, feeling, at last, the pop and snap of bone. His whole body went rigid. He felt Deagol stiffen beneath him, and then there was no more struggle. For a moment, he held on like a bulldog to the whitening throat. He stared into the eyes of his friend. There was no life in them, and they stared straight ahead, dead. _

_He let go at last, feeling nothing but a sense of accomplishment. And then he looked to the palm of the hand, clenched still. He opened it, and there lay the ring, gloriously shining, still, mocking, but he did not see the mocking. He could almost hear his name being called by the thing. It was beautiful! As he picked it up, he held it like one mad, or one in love, and he caressed it, hardly daring to believe what he was holding._

"_My Precioussss!" he hissed._

_

* * *

_

Adelaide broke into the scene too late.

The first thing she saw was Deagol lying on the ground. Smeagol was not far away, gloating over his prize. He turned at the sound of her footsteps, and stared at her with a deer-in-the-headlights look. But this time, that look did not remain. Fire replaced fear, and anger replaced surprise.

He slipped the Ring on his finger.

Adelaide turned and ran, harder than she had ever run before, never mind the fact that she was half-dead already. She could not hear him following, and when she looked back, she saw an invisible Smeagol dragging Deagol's body away. He wasn't following her. But the hobbit who had been so alive that afternoon was now dead.

His murderer had been content to watch a caterpillar crawl over his leg!

Adelaide slumped down at the base of a huge oak and began to cry.


	2. Dearly Departed

Chapter 2

Dearly Departed…

**I have to apologize from here on in if romance seems to dominate a good deal of this story. You see, at the same time I was editing this part, I was in a long-distance relationship. For that matter, I am still in a long distance relationship (It's been three years and eight months, to be exact), and much of what I felt was poured into the long-distance relationship of Frodo and Adelaide. So if it seems mushy or too Mary Sue-ish, I heartily apologize…I was working from first-hand experience. **

**Also, the "Women's Health" magazine is from Adelaide's backpack, when she first came into Middle Earth. I thought it was a nice touch, especially if Eowyn's swatting Adelaide's head with it. How many of your best friends would roll up a magazine to bonk you over the head if you were having a nightmare? **

**

* * *

**

"Adelaide! Adelaide, wake up!"

Adelaide coughed, jerked up, and sat in bed, hacking and sputtering. Eowyn was shaking her with one hand, a rolled up edition of "Women's Health" in her other, poised over her friend's head.

"HOLY FUCK, DON'T YOU DARE SWAT ME WITH THAT!"

"I already did…" Eowyn whispered. "Eight times."

"No fucking wonder my head hurts…did you roll up rocks in there, too?"

"You were having a dreadful nightmare," Eowyn said. "I couldn't wake you up! I was about ready to whack you with the pitcher!" she indicated the water-jug in the corner. "You wouldn't wake up."

Adelaide sat up and glanced around. It was true! She was back in Edoras, with Eowyn, Theoden, Eomer, and all the rest of her friends. And she was in her nightgown, in her own little bed, in her home in Rohan! Adelaide clutched the blankets to her and buried her face into them, sniffing deeply. Oh, God, to smell horses and hay and stone and tapestries! Adelaide started crying again, and Eowyn put her arms around her.

"What was it?" she asked. "Adelaide, your feet…"

Adelaide looked down at her feet. The soles were patched with wet grass and dirt, as if she'd been running through a forest. She pushed at Eowyn.

"I don't need a healer. Come on, get me to Gandalf. I've got to talk to him. This was no ordinary running dream, this was a damn reality, and something's wrong. Eowyn, go find Gandalf. Go!" she said, seeing the hesitation in her friend's eyes. Eowyn leapt up and ran from the room. Adelaide kept a clear head. She looked around. Yes, she was awake. But the harsh reality of the running dream still lay on her lips, her nightgown, and her feet. She felt sore beyond belief. And she felt dirty. She needed a bath. The faint smell of fish lingered in the room, but there was no sign of Smeagol, and the memory was fading now, so quickly that Adelaide was afraid that she would not remember any of it.

She jumped at the sound of Gandalf approaching, and she leapt up, grabbing the wizard around the middle and hugging him tightly.

"Well! Since when did I become the object of your affections, my dear? Does Frodo know how long you've been keeping an eye on me?"

"Oh, Gandalf, knock it off!" Adelaide burst into tears again. She couldn't help it. Her emotions were roller-coaster-ing more horribly than they did at that time of the month.

"What is it? What's happened? Are you alright? Tell me everything."

Adelaide spilled her guts.

"Well!" Gandalf said after the story was over. "Come with me. We'll let Aragorn know."

"Why does Aragorn have to know?"

"Because he is a healer, and will know what to do for you. You've had a very bad fright on top of your ordeal in Isenguard, and I don't need you swooning or getting any worse." He wrapped a shawl around her and gently led her downstairs. Eowyn grabbed her wrapper and followed.

In the great hall, Gimli and Legolas sat together at a table alongside Eomer, Gamling, and two other soldiers. Theoden paced up and down beside Aragorn, who leaned against a pillar and smoked quietly.

"Gandalf? What's…my ladies!" Aragorn sprang up. "It's still early yet for you; please go back to sleep. There will be time enough for duty, but only when you've rest—Gandalf? Adelaide, what's wrong?"

"We'll need a bit of tea, Eomer, if you'll be so kind as to tell the cook to brew some up," Gandalf said cheerfully. "Aragorn, I must speak with you. Drink your tea, my dear, and don't fall back asleep."

Adelaide nodded. She was too wide awake to go back anywhere. Gimli grabbed her ankle and checked her feet.

"I've heard of sleepwalking, but this is ridiculous. Who has frightened you? Name the cad, and I'll have his head."

Legolas knelt next to her, and Eomer came back into the room with a hot cup of tea. Adelaide sipped it quietly, making a face.

"Bleh. You know I don't like this stuff."

"Drink it," ordered Eomer, in his "don't-give-me-any-of-your-bullshit" tone. Adelaide stuck her tongue out at him and sipped the steaming liquid, grimacing all the while. Legolas thought or a moment, and then reached into a pouch at his belt. He took out something that looked like a pill, and offered it to Adelaide. She took it with some hesitation.

"It is sweet," the Elf said. "And will calm your body and mind."

Adelaide swallowed it, and the tea seemed much better after that. "Thanks, Legolas. I didn't know you carried candy with you."

He smiled, pleased. "It isn't candy, my lady."

"Then what is it?"

"If I told you, you might throw it up."

Aragorn came back with Gandalf following. The Ranger stood in front of Adelaide, and sighed. "Well," he said gently. "Perhaps it was all for the best, Adelaide, although I do worry about your physical strength. You must promise me you'll take better care of yourself." He pulled her up into his arms and hugged her. "You did well. I can imagine that the ordeal must have been painful for you. Now let me bathe your feet, and we'll bandage them properly. You must wear boots to bed next time." He then told her that they were to visit Isenguard that day, for Gandalf wanted to observe the ruins and anything else which might be of importance. Adelaide rolled her eyes.

"Do I have to come? Eowyn and I are trying to plan a victory celebration. And we want you to sing for us. You have a nice voice, and if you don't sing something, Eowyn and I will dump cold water on you and make you sleep outside."

"Nothing I cannot handle! But I know you and your friend are working hard. There will be plenty of time to finish your plans. You must come with us now. Once more to Isenguard, and I'll never make you go again, on my oath as a soldier."

"Oh, alright," Adelaide mumbled, and ran back upstairs. A few minutes later, she came back down, still buttoning the back of her gown. "Is Eowyn coming?"

"No. She volunteered to stay behind and make a 'DJ Playlist,' whatever that is. She has your laptop."

Adelaide gasped and ran back, shouting up the stairwell: "EOWYN, DON'T FORGET TO INCLUDE THE SEX-BOMB SONG! WE HAVE TO PARODY YOUR BROTHER, REMEMBER?"

"I WON'T FORGET!"

"AND WE'RE DOING THAT DUET FROM 'CHICAGO,' ALRIGHT?"

"YES, I WON'T FORGET THAT EITHER!"

"AND 'BABY GOT BACK'?"

"GET GOING, ADELAIDE!"

"ALRIGHT, BUT YOU'D BETTER MAKE IT GOOD! AND DON'T FORGET, I GET TO DANCE WITH REODAM FIRST THIS TIME! YOU ALWAYS GET FIRST DIBS WITH HIM, AND IT'S NOT FAIR!"

"YOU CAN HAVE HIM; HE DEVELOPED ACNE WHILE YOU WERE GONE."

"Coming, my lady?" Legolas asked, smiling and holding out his hand. Adelaide took it.

"Whoops, heh, sorry. Yes, I'm coming. DON'T FORGET WHAT I SAID ABOUT POLE-DANCING, EOWYN."

"Pole-dancing?" Legolas asked.

"I was just kidding."

Gimli humphed, and straightened his helm. "Not a bad word all morning. That's a record."

The ride to Isenguard did not take very long, but once they approached the forests, everyone slowed their horses down to a walk, and they passed leisurely through the trees. Adelaide preferred to stick close to Legolas, who had Gimli mounted on Arod behind him. The Elf and the young woman were showing better respect to each other every since her rescue from Isenguard, and Aragorn was glad to see that Legolas was not making any stupid, lovesick moves. Things were as they should be.

"I wonder what has become of Isenguard?" Legolas asked. "What does it look like, my lady?"

"Very, very soggy, last I looked."

"I hope you will not catch your death of a cold from all that water."

"Aw, in this weather? How could I possibly catch a chill in the sunshine?" Adelaide laughed. "You're so funny, Legolas."

It was like calling him the Grand Poo-Bah of all Elves. Legolas lit up at once. "We are friends, then?"

"Hey, I'm friends with anyone who sweeps me up onto his horse and gallantly offers to ride me into the fort. I won't mind telling you that it's always been a secret vice of mine to have a handsome hero sweep me off my feet onto his horse and carry me off to safety. It's so romantic; it's like a fairy-tale hero, like Robin Hood. Say, you are like Robin Hood, in a way. And all the other Elves are your merry men. And I'm Maid Marion, the love of Robin Hood…and you defend me in Merry England from the wicked King John, while fending off the sheriff and his brutes with your skills in perfect archery—"

"My lady," interrupted Legolas, amused. "Who is Robin Hood?"

"Oh, I forget you don't know…he was a literary character who stole from the rich, gave to the poor, and swept lasses and damsels off their feet, and rescued old ladies."

Legolas laughed. "I do not know if I have had any connection with any of that," he said. "But I might be able to refer to sweeping one particular damsel off her feet."

Adelaide blushed. "That was brilliant. I think by this time, I owe you a life-debt. How does one go about repaying life-debts around here?"

"You need not do so," Legolas was enchanted. "You are a benefit to the Fellowship…and you are my friend."

"Really?" Adelaide asked. "Thank you! I suppose," she added meekly. "I'm not a very grateful person at times, but…I do have my moments," she said defensively.

"I do not care whether or not you are thankful; it is enough for me to know that you will be safe."

Adelaide smiled, blushing furiously. It felt so good to receive praise and attention again, and flattery from a handsome Elf was the icing on the victory cake. Legolas watched her. By Eru, she was a fascinating woman. Not a childish flirt anymore, or a girl in denial, but at last, she was succumbing to his attentions and affections. He liked this Adelaide much better than the old one. How fine she might look in Elvish attire, with soft silks that would caress those luscious curves, making her figure the envy of every thin-as-a-stick Elven maid! A lovely shade of gray and blue would accent those gorgeous gray eyes, and such beautiful hair would be adorned by only the finest jewels his kingdom could offer-

"I think I want to learn Elvish," Adelaide said suddenly. Legolas stopped dreaming.

"What?"

She turned brightly to him. "I could have been studying the language of Elves for seventeen years, and instead I ran a hobbit hole. There's so much I have to do! I want to learn your language, and then learn Gimli's, and then Rohirric and everything—"

"Where is this coming from?"

"Oh, you silly Elf, I have work to do," Adelaide said impatiently. "I've been holed up in the Shire for seventeen years, and haven't gotten out to see or do anything. I want to travel around Middle Earth, learn its languages, and get to know its peoples. I want to DO things, Legolas."

She startled him. This was not Adelaide speaking at all, but someone completely foreign. Legolas stared at her for some time. She seemed motivated, eager, excited, lit by an inner desire to take on the world. This was not Adelaide! Then, she turned and grinned, and the old Adelaide returned. "But I guess there's only one thing at a time, huh? I'll start with Elvish."

"I'm delighted that my tongue pleases you."

"Yeah, I like it. But what about the tongue of the dwarves? Now there's a totally awesome language to learn!"

He sighed. "You will have to ask Gimli; I know little about it."

"What? After being cooped up with Thorin for so long?"

Legolas laughed again. "Maiden, I was not cooped up with him, as you put it; I was having a splendid time with my father at the festivities."

"Lucky you."

"Then you are not angry with me on that score?"

"Hum? Oh, no, I guess not. After all, I have to see both sides of the story, and I guess Thorin was kind of wrong to hold something back." She sighed. "But I sure wish your father had been just a…well, a tad nicer. You treated Gollum better than you did the dwarves, and Gollum's more of a problem than dwarves!"

"I am sorry, lady, my father did what he had to do."

"Well, I'm sorry if I seem rude, but the whole story of the Elves in Mirkwood seemed to be a little silly. Your father just imprisons the dwarves because they won't speak—it was none of your father's business anyway—and during a celebration, one of your guards gets himself drunk and the dwarves are able to escape. I'll never quite understand that. But it's like you said…you Wood Elves are partial to wine."

"We are," said Legolas lightly. "And I am sorry that we had not treated the dwarves with more compassion. I did not like dwarves in those days, and to have thirteen of them interrupting our celebrations is a little uncouth, don't you think?"

"But they were hungry, and starving, and all that, and you did nothing to help! In America, we can go anywhere we want without getting the third degree."

Legolas gripped Arod's reins. "Lady, are you getting upset? I am very sorry that your 'poor darlings' went without food, but we did give them a generous portion of food while they were in prison, and they were allowed to speak to each other."

"Well, sorry," Adelaide grumbled. "I just hated that part of the book. I've never understood why dwarves and Elves were so hateful to each other."

Legolas was very confused, but still yet determined not to lose her good humor. "Do not apologize," he said kindly. "I am beginning to understand dwarves better, and I do see your point of view. We Wood Elves are rather prone to be oh-so-perfect," he added. "We forget that we are of the world, and are proud in many ways. Dwarves, I think, could teach us a lesson or two on humility. And I rather enjoyed fighting with them against the goblins."

"Awesome. The next running dream I have, I'm going to rejoin Bilbo on his quest. But I won't take the spiders," Adelaide shuddered. "I can't stand spiders! They're nasty, icky, gross, horrid things, and I don't like all those legs."

"Lady!" said Legolas, in surprise. "What is this! My fearless maiden is fearful of spiders? This I have never known!"

"You idiot, we've been camping together for months, and you never saw me cringe every time a spider crawled over the ground? What kind of sharp-eyed Elf are you, anyway? You have tons of those things in Mirkwood. On my next trip, I'm bringing pesticide."

Legolas smiled. "I have killed several spiders before, maiden."

"Oh, gross. You cleaned your hands afterwards, didn't you?"

Legolas nearly fell off Arod, he was laughing so hard. Aragorn looked over.

"You two are having too much fun. Simmer down over there, or I'll separate you!"

"Well, he started it!"

"I don't care who started it; I'll end it."

"But he killed spiders in Mirkwood, and I bet he's never washed his hands afterward! That's disgusting! I hate spiders! I don't see what's so funny!"

"Really?" asked Gimli. "I never knew that, Addy!"

Adelaide huffed. "That's one thing Mr. Tolkien and I have-had?-in common. Arachnophobia."

"What's that?"

"A deadly fear of spiders. It's very common, and I happen to have it. So I don't see what's so funny!"

"Forgive me, my lady," gasped Legolas. "The way you said it made me laugh. I am sorry. Of course I washed my hands. I had to wash my whole body; those creatures leak blood and foul slime like no other creature I know of. They are filthy beasts. It took me a while to get the smell off. Yet I have a question."

"Ask away."

"If this Tolkien, whom you say is our creator, built up Middle Earth, and was frightened of spiders...why did he put them into our world to torture us?"

"He was bit by a baboon spider as a kid, and never got over it."

"Ah, I see. Past experience then."

Oho, yes. One man's experience was another man's…er, unfortunate demise. Adelaide thought quickly about it. That part of the book was beginning to worry her; she hoped she wouldn't have a running dream right in the middle of such a nasty…experience.

Frodo's beautiful face floated into her mind, and she smiled briefly. Where was he now? Involuntarily, her mind reached out and connected to something, and the sensation jolted her. Why! Imagination could do more than what she had bargained for! It was like stretching out with a hand, flexing muscles. Adelaide saw Frodo clear as day. He and Sam—blessed Sam!—were resting in a cave of rock near badlands, it seemed…sparse grass and dead trees. Gollum was nowhere to be seen. It was so peaceful there, without a shadow of threat. But it was there, ever in her mind. And it was there in Frodo's mind too. He knew…he connected with her. They were akin in this manner.

* * *

Somewhere in the land of Mordor, near the frightful borders of that land, there grew tall, thick bushes that were bare and dead. Here too ran no water, and all was still. Lifelessness penetrated the core of that place, where rocks and boulders created ruinous caves and terrible hillsides that could shred an ordinary foot into jelly.

But a hobbit foot was an exception.

Frodo and Sam had been traveling for a while, and they were now the only living things in that land, in that time and place. They were sleeping gently in one of the caves formed out of rock, and while Sam was dreaming peacefully, Frodo could not be so peaceful for even a moment. His mind was tortured by so many fearful images, particularly that of Adelaide's. As they drew nearer to Mordor, the hobbit found, to his shock, that imagining Adelaide's face in his mind was difficult to do, and hearing the sound of her voice was not as easy as it once was. Instead of her shapely body and laughing face, there seemed to be a ghost. He longed to touch her, and in his dream and mind he reached for her and called to her. But his mind was not as strong as hers. She could touch him, but he could not touch her. He could only know of the whisper of a touch she had given him, and hear only echoes of her words to him.

Itching at his throat, Frodo's hand strayed to the Ring. He pulled it out, looked long at it, fingered it gently. The gold flashed in his palm, the smooth texture slid easily between his fingers.

Riding to Isenguard, Adelaide gagged.

Suddenly, there was a voice above them, and Gollum appeared, his weird, out-of-proportion head wagging back and forth, a dumb grin on his nearly-toothless mouth.

"Time for wake-up, sillies!" he hissed. "Nice hobbits must get up. Nice hobbits must go, yes, we must go now, while it is safe. Have we had beautiful sleep?"

"No, we haven't," growled Sam. "But wait a moment, Gollum. Mr. Frodo must eat something. Here," he said to Frodo, taking out some lembas. "You go on and eat that, Mr. Frodo."

"What about you?" Frodo looked at his faithful friend, who just shrugged.

"Nah, I'm not hungry. Leastways not for lembas."

"Sam." Frodo gave his friend a look that clearly told him not to sacrifice too much for his sake.

"Oh…alright, Mr. Frodo. But only a bit. I've rationed it, Mr. Frodo, so we'll have enough."

"For what, Sam?"

Sam looked at him strangely. "For the journey home," he said lightly, and Frodo smiled. Nothing ever dampened Sam's cheerful, optimistic spirits.

"Did we dream nicely?" said Gollum, hopping from one foot to the other. "Nice meadows, yess, precious, and lots of tasty taters, yes, fat hobbit, taters, eh?"

"Oh, go on with you!" snarled Sam. "It's none of your business what master dreams of!"

"No," Frodo said weakly. "It was a good dream. I danced with her at the harvest festival."

He lied for Sam's benefit, not for his own.

* * *

**Alright! Please review and tell me how I'm doing. I'm nervous. Is it too dumb? Be honest. There's still time to fix upcoming chapters.**


	3. A Blast of Hot Air

Chapter 3

A Blast of Hot Air

* * *

The party of Rohan and the remaining Fellowship moved quickly and silently through the forest that now thickly surrounded the border of Isenguard. The tower of Orthanc was clearly visible as it stretched mightily into the sky, undamaged because of some sort of wizardry in the stone. The black tower stood amidst the ruins of the grounds below, where muddy water was only hobbit-waist high, and bits of weaponry, wood, and other flotsam lay strewn about. The party broke from the forest into the bright of daylight again, and Adelaide shielded her eyes.

"What has happened?" Legolas looked over at her in astonishment. She hadn't told them anything about anything since her escape; there hadn't been any time.

"The environment got pissed off," Adelaide replied cheerfully. Striding around the ruins were the tall, tree-like things that she had seen the evening before. Now that she could see them more clearly, and her mind wasn't hampered so much by thoughts of escape, she recognized them as Ents, the shepherds of the trees.

"What are they?" asked Legolas, who had spotted them right away. "Tall are they, and like trees, yet they walk and have limbs like the children of Arda. They must be Ents, then, treeherders."

Other voices, small and relaxed, reached their ears, and Aragorn turned the party towards a small part of the wall which had been crumbled into a heap of rubbish. Sitting on top of this rubbish pile were two very familiar figures, surrounded by plates, bottles, and smoke.

"You know, Merry, this reminds me of a day at the Green Dragon—"

"Mmph! Green Dragon, mmm-hm!"

"—with a mug of ale in my hand, and my feet up on the table, after a hard day's work."

"Only…you've never done hard day's work, Pippin!"

The small party rode out into the clearing, Gandalf at the head. The two hobbits, upon seeing their good friends again, yelled happily, and Merry stood up, posing in an exaggerated manner. Pippin lifted his mug in a toast.

"Welcome, my lords, to Isenguard!" Merry seemed a bit drunk.

"Argh!" cried Gimli. "And all this time we've been running around, wasting our breath, and now we find you sitting and drinking, and smoking and eating—"

"We are sitting," Pippin said. "On a field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts. The salted pork is especially good."

Gimli's mouth hung open.

"Salted pork!"

Legolas laughed. "You speak for me also, Gimli," he said. "Though I would sooner learn how they came by the wine."

"My dear Legolas, half a moment!" cried Merry. "This is the very best our host Sauruman could provide, though doubtless he realizes we even took it. He is at present locked up in his tower. Treebeard has the keys," he added, bowing again. "I am most afraid that Sauruman is indisposed at the time so that he cannot greet you. We're under orders from Treebeard, who has taken over management of Isenguard."

"Good heavens, is that Adelaide sitting so nice and pretty on that horse?" Pippin asked, pretending to be weak in the eyes.

"It is, Pip, though she looked a lot better in that soaking shift. You won't tell Frodo on us, now, would you, Adelaide? After all, he hasn't married you, and we couldn't help ourselves, and a picture is there to be admired, and—"

"Oh, shut it off, you nits," Adelaide chuckled. But she blushed, all the same. They hadn't changed a bit.

Treebeard came sloshing over to the party, now carrying Merry and Pippin, as it rode closer to Orthanc. Gandalf rode very close and addressed the tree-herder politely. Treebeard smiled a huge, leafy smile that fairly lit up his whole face, causing his bright yellow eyes to sparkle. He was a big ol' marshmallow at heart.

"Hoommmmm, young master Gandalf! I'm glad you're here. Stick, earth, tree and stone I can handle, but there is a wizard here to manage, locked in his tower. I have the keys here," and he handed them to the white wizard. "I believe you'll be wanting your little orcs back, hoom-hum-hoomy-toom…I shall miss them greatly. But they seem eager to get back to their charming Elf-maiden."

"I'm not an Elf," Adelaide said politely. "I'm a human female. Thank you for rescuing me. If you hadn't come along, I don't know what I would have done."

"Hmm, well, our flood almost killed you. Still, it all turned out for the best, and I am thankful now with these tidings of victory over the enemy."

"For now," Gandalf said. "We have won a slight reprieve before the 'long haul,' as our dwarf in the company has said. But you have won the praise, thanks, and deep respect and gratitude for many years from Rohan, at any rate! Keep Sauruman locked up tightly."

"Oh, why can't we just kill him and get it over with?" growled Gimli. Gandalf shook his head.

"No. He has no more power, but his evil tongue remains. Do not let him trick you into letting him out, Treebeard."

Aragorn shook his head and looked up at the tower. His eyes roamed over the tall spires. "Show yourself," he murmured. He wanted a few parting shots.

"Be careful," Gandalf warned. "Even locked up in his tower in defeat, Sauruman is dangerous."

"Then let's just have his head and be done with it!" Gimli snapped.

"No!" Gandalf said. "No. We need him to talk. We must see him."

"If he shows his face, can I spit in it?" Adelaide asked.

"No, Miss Edessa, you may not."

Then, the party started. A voice came from the top of the tower, and a figure stood there, his long white hair blowing in the wind. White, gnarled claws gripped the black staff he clutched desperately to his side. The old man appeared bowed and forlorn, as though a great injustice had been done to him. His voice, deep and rich, like red-velvet cake, slipped through the air like a snake weaving silently through the jungle forest.

"You are wise, King Thoeden, and have fought in many battles, and slain many men. Will you not set aside our disagreements and talk sense? Can we not take council as we once did, my old friend? Can we not have peace, you and I?"

His words were so calm and reasonable, that all who heard him immediately had second thoughts of filling him full of arrows. For a moment, they turned and looked at Theoden. It would be a wise move to have a wizard on their side, especially one as powerful as Sauruman. If he could conjure up an army as big as the one that assaulted Helm's Deep, what could he not do for them? He had been mired deep in the Enemy's plans, and probably knew all about them. They could lick Mordor in half a day, with Sauruman on their side!

But Theoden's mind was already churning with images, and not least among them was the vision of twelve-year-old boys hacked into mincemeat after death by the infamous Uruk-hai. He could also remember his faithful door-warden and close friend, Hama, slaughtered viciously by the wargs. Even now they rode over the death-factory which had given birth to an abortive machine that snuffed out the lives of too many people to begin counting.

Then, the King of Rohan made the epic speech of his life.

"We shall have peace," he said. "We shall have peace, when you answer for the burning of the Westfold! When the children that died there are avenged! When the soldiers who were hewn, even as they lay dead against the gates of the Hornburg, are avenged! When you hang from the end of a gibbet for the sport of your own crows….we shall have peace!"

Adelaide quickly resisted the urge to applaud.

Sauruman's face had become increasingly contorted with anger; now it was twisted in a hideous sneer of discontent, and the fury in his eyes burned worse than a bonfire.

"Gibbets and crows!" he snarled. "Dotard! And what do you want, Gandalf Grayhame? Let me guess. The keys Orthanc, or perhaps the keys of Barad-dur itself, the crowns of the seven kings, and the rods of all five wizards! Is that why you have come?"

Gandalf rode closer. "Sauruman!" he called. "Your treachery has already cost many lives. Thousands of others are now at risk! But you can save them, Sauruman! You were deep in the Enemy's council! Come down!"

"So you are looking for information," the other wizard sneered. "I have some for you." From beneath his robes, Sauruman produced the Palantir. The dark ball of marble burned as though on fire from within; it matched the hatred in the wizard's eyes and flashed with an unearthly light.

"Something festers in the heart of Middle Earth," Sauruman said cruelly. "Something that you have failed to see. But the Great Eye has seen it. Even now, he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon."

This news was greeted by a silence that the old man seemed to enjoy heartily.

"_You are all going to die_."

Gandalf looked thoughtful, whilst Sauruman continued.

"But you know this, don't you, Gandalf? You cannot think that this…this ranger will ever sit upon the throne of Gondor. This ragged wildsman. This exile, crept from the shadows, will never be crowned king," he spat. "Gandalf does not hesitate to sacrifice those who are closest to him…those he professes to love. Tell me, what words of comfort did you give the Halfling before sending him to his doom? The path you have set him on, can only lead to death. It was quite nice of you, Gandalf, to make him go blindly into a trap, and he only freshly engaged too! I would have loved to see the wedding. The happy faces of two young people always touch my heart, but not Gandalf. No, he is too grumpy, too solid in traditions; he will never take any jesting lightly."

Gandalf risked a peek at Adelaide, who was trying to ignore everyone around her, and instead feigned interest in a water-bug.

"Tell me," Sauruman said gently. "How did you escape, lady?"

Adelaide exploded.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS IT WITH EVERYONE AND THIS 'LADY' BULLSHIT? I HAVE A FUCKING NAME, AND I WOULD LIKE EVERYONE TO USE IT! FOR YOUR INFORMATION, YOU WHITE SON OF A BITCH, I ESCAPED BY THE TRAPDOOR IN MY ROOM 'CAUSE I KNEW IT WAS THERE, SO THERE, AND STOP BUGGING ME FOR ANY MORE INFORMATION 'CAUSE YOU'RE NOT GOING TO GET ANY, YOU RANDOM EXCUSE FOR A WIZARD!"

Sauruman gave no indication that he'd just been insulted or yelled at. "And I suppose you're very happy about being back with the people who supposedly care for you! You do realize, of course, that they can't possibly care about you the way I do? But come, will you not come up and speak with me now? For if Gandalf or Theoden will not, surely you must. We may speak of good things, my dear. You know that you have the power within you to save Middle Earth. I alone can aid you now in that process. You do not know how to harness and use the power that you have, but with my training I shall build you up and make you as a mighty queen! One fit to destroy Sauron and rule over everyone and everything as you see desirable! For you must know, little one, that I have seen your future. Yes. You are intended for a great and fulfilling destiny, as a queen and monarch—no, more than even an empress here. You shall have authority over Elves and kings, great men from the past, present, and future, and Middle Earth will bow to you; it shall lay docile at your feet. I intend no evil. Only come up now and save the ones you profess to love, if you do care so much."

Adelaide made a face. "Boy, talk about hot air. You could float the _Hindenburg_ with all that!"

"You disbelieve me?"

"No, I believe that one day a bunch of aliens will pop up in my backyard and steal all my petunias. You idiot, you spent—oh, damn it, I don't know how many days—trying to make me talk—and it wouldn't work—and you either got pissed off or motivated—you tried everything, and nothing got you past the 'I'm not telling you jack-shit, honey.' What makes you think I'm going to listen now? Come on, you're wasted inside that ice-pop you call home. Give it up and take art lessons instead."

Sauruman trembled in indignation, as Theoden, Aragorn, and the hobbits turned very approving eyes in her direction. Gandalf was looking very impressed. Eomer was beaming left and right. And of course, Legolas' eyes were shining. Sauruman spat.

"So it is your turn to flatter and beguile, is it, little forked-tongue?" he hissed at her. "Witch! Then it is my turn to profane, and inform you that your words are lost on me. All your talk impresses me not; I will have nothing to do with you, daughter of a snake!"

"Well that's a fine how-do-you-do!" Adelaide called. "Just remember: I am rubber; you are glue; whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you."

"Adelaide, I think you've had your parting shot," Aragorn said sternly. "Several, in fact. Get down from there, unless you want him to hurt you unnecessarily!"

"Oh, he doesn't scare me," Adelaide muttered.

Gimli growled deep in his throat.

"I've heard enough! Go on," he whispered at Legolas. "Shoot him down! Put him out of his misery, go on! Stick an arrow in his gob! Shoot him!"

Legolas reached for an arrow hesitantly. Gandalf stayed him with a hand.

"Sauruman," he said coldly. "Come down, and we will spare your life."

"Save your pity and your mercy, old fool! I want none of it! I have no use for it!" Sauruman snarled and raised his staff, aiming a fiery blast at Gandalf. The flame shot down and enveloped the wizard in a wreath of heated flame, so that all thought he must be harmed. But Gandalf made no sound of fear or pain, and when the smoke cleared, he stood there unharmed, his clothes all the whiter still, and his face a mask of impatience and pity.

"Sauruman…your staff is broken."

With those words, Sauruman's staff broke within his hands, and the pieces scattered themselves on the ground at his feet. Sauruman gritted his teeth in anger, and pulled back, muttering to himself. Then Theoden looked up and beheld a very familiar figure who had come out upon the tower. It was Grima, still hunched over, eyes blinking in the sunlight, greasy black hair blowing back from his face. He licked his dry lips in the chilled morning air, and stood at Sauruman's side, to see just what was going on. Theoden saw that his eyes held no more malice; there was more of a plea in them. "Get me down from here and out of his range," was chiefly what they told him. It was a reformed Wormtongue they were confronted with now, and even Adelaide softened a little. She had not forgotten the tear he had shed upon seeing the army of Isenguard, nor had she forgotten the way he had helped her to escape. Even though he still looked like the ugliest man on the face of the planet, she could not help but feel a little tug of pity.

"Grima," called Theoden. "You need not follow him! You were not always as you are now! You were once a man of Rohan! Come down and be rid of him."

Grima gave a small bow, grateful that his master had spoken up for him, and was willing to forgive, but Sauruman had words on that account as well.

"A man…of Rohan!" he jeered. "What is Rohan but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among the dogs? It was not you who won the victory at Helm's Deep, King Theoden, horse-master. You are a lesser son of greater sires."

Theoden paused a moment to consider this, and then looked back up at Grima. His former councilor was staring at Sauruman with a look akin to that of horror, for only now was he seeing what this wizard was really like. He taunted others, just as he taunted his servant; he was an unpleasant man, and now his only hope lay in coming down to his master in all humility, hoping for some kind of redemption and forgiveness. He'd be lucky to gain his life and a possible job out working in the fields. That alone would have made him happy. Theoden saw all this in an instant, and his heart surged anew with pity and hope.

"Grima," he said. 'Come down. Be free of him."

"Free?" laughed Sauruman. "He will never be free!"

Grima stared up at him as the light-bulbs suddenly popped on. "No," he said softly to Sauruman, shaking his head. Sauruman turned.

"Get back…_cur_!"

The wizard dealt him a shocking blow against his cheek, sending him sprawling to the floor.

"Sauruman!" Gandalf cried. "It is your choice. Will you come down or not? You were deep in the Enemy's council! Tell us what you know!"

Sauruman smirked. What he failed to see, however, was the infuriated form of Grima Wormtongue, who rose from his place on the ground, clutching a long, sharp knife in his hand.

"You withdraw your guard, and I will tell you where your doom is to be decided," Sauruman sneered.

Shaking visibly, Grima got to his feet, rage clearly visible upon his twisted, pasty features.

"I will not be held prisoner he—"

Sauruman's face went a still, his eyes widened in genuine pain as Grima stole up behind him and raised the knife, and bringing it down into the back of the wizard. Sauruman froze, an expression of pain contorting his face. At the same time, Legolas released an arrow, disgusted by the drama taking place. His arrow flew straight and true into the heart of Grima, who fell away from the wizard, knife clattering to the floor smeared with blood. His body shook as he screamed in pain, and then he was silent.

But Sauruman's body dropped directly from the tower, down, down, down the entire thousand feet he had been standing atop. But he did not hit the water. With a sickening crunch, his body was impaled upon the spokes of a giant wheel, one of his own mechanisms used earlier. Merry put a hand over his mouth in shock and disgust.

Gimli shrugged. "Well, now what do we do?"

"We ride for Edoras," Theoden said quickly. "Gandalf?"

"Send word to all the men in Rohan's district, and to Gondor and others," Gandalf replied. "We must know of any information regarding an attack."

The wheel began to turn, sending Sauruman head-first into the muddy water. Treebeard shook himself in satisfaction.

"The filth of Sauruman is washing away," he said in a contented voice.

Pippin, who was sitting upon Aragorn's horse, suddenly spotted something in the water, and hurried down, oblivious to Aragorn's call of "Pippin!" There was a perfectly round black stone there, made of marble or the like. Reaching down, he picked it up and looked at it. It was rather beautiful, all nice and shiny black, like a giant marble. Might even do for a bowling ball, if it had any holes. It was, of course, the palantir, which Sauruman had dropped as he fell. He wanted to keep it, but then there was a voice behind him, and there stood Gandalf upon Shadowfax. Treebeard looked down.

"Well, bless my bark!" he exclaimed.

"Here! I'll take that, my lad," Gandalf said, snatching the ball from Pippin's hands. "I did not ask you to handle it."

Pippin looked hurt, and Adelaide noticed it. "Come on, Pippin," she said. "You can ride with me."

Gandalf lifted Pippin up, but he whispered into Adelaide's ear. "Don't you pet him, Adelaide, and comfort him. It is best that he knows naught of what he has just held."

Adelaide nodded, but something inside her told her that Gandalf was making a huge mistake in not telling Pippin about the Palantir.

* * *

Frodo and Sam were walking along through the underbrush, near some high-growing bush-like trees that surrounded them on either side as they plodded forward to Mordor. They were still in the vicinity of Gondor, but quite out of range of the men, and they felt somewhat safe in somewhat familiar surroundings. At least things were growing here. Sam shifted his kettles and pans on his back and though desperately of his own home with his mum and Gaffer, perhaps having tea at that very moment, with a good book to read and heads close together as they discussed future references for their son.

"I wonder what time it is," Sam muttered. "Leastways it should be teatime in decent places."

Gollum, who had been crawling up ahead of them stopped with a look of disgust and turned around to face Sam, smirking.

"We're not…in…decent…places," he sneered, and began crawling along again. Sam gave him a face behind his back, and then turned to Frodo. His master had paused suddenly, as if thinking of something; his eyes were wide and blue, and there was a frightened expression in them, as a child would be.

"Mr. Frodo?"

"It's just a feeling," Frodo whispered. "I don't think I'll be coming back."

Sam walked back to his master, remembering how he himself had once been frightened to take the first step out of the Shire, and how Frodo had encouraged him on. Now it was his turn to encourage and lead, to be an example for his master. But Sam was not so proud that he thought these things. He only knew that his master was hurting, and he wanted to comfort him.

"Now Mr. Frodo, you mustn't think like that! It's just morbid, is what it is. We're going there and back again, just like Mr. Bilbo! Come on."

Frodo gave a weak smile and permitted Sam to lead him forward. They eventually came to a small glade in which they saw a tall stone statue, overgrown with moss and written upon with red ochre, the pain of orcs. The foul beasts had graffetied the stone with all manner of disgusting signs, symbols, and drawings. The stone had of the state had been broken off, and in its place sat an ugly gray boulder encased with spiked metal bands. Frodo shivered.

"I think all this was once a part of Gondor, before the shadow overtook it," he said. Sam grimaced at the statue, and then looked upon the head of the king, which was resting by a tree, covered in little white, creeping flowers. And at that moment, the sun broke through the clouds, and the trees filtered the rays down upon the king's head, and the flowers were lit up as though they were golden. And Sam saw this and rejoiced within his heart. Such was his joy that he turned to Frodo and said, "Look, Mr. Frodo! The king has got a crown again!" And Frodo turned, looked, and smiled.

"They cannot conquer forever," he sighed happily. But even as he said this, the sun disappeared, and all grew dark again, and Frodo's heart despaired again, if only for an instant. The little déjàvu instance seemed foreboding. But Gollum was already making impatient signs for them to come along quickly, and they heeded his gestures, following him towards the path he had chosen to lead them on.


	4. PARTY TIME!

Chapter 4

PARTY TIME!

**I had so much fun with this chapter. There were so many things to do with it, and if Mr. PJ could take creative liberties with Mr. Tolkien's work (i.e., a drinking game), then so can I…moderately, of course. It would be too random and awkward for Eomer to start break-dancing, as awesome as that might look. But Adelaide and Eowyn…hee-hee…what kind of trouble could girls at a party stir up? And a drunk Legolas with sex on his mind? Ooh, boy. This is going to be one interesting night!**

**

* * *

**

When introductions and explanations and good-byes had been made, the party set out from Isenguard, the two hobbits chatting away delightedly of their tale.

"And we have to hear your tale too, Adelaide," said Pippin brightly. "Because we don't know it yet, and how you got into Isenguard is a mystery to us!"

"Why am I not surprised?" asked Adelaide, and Legolas took her hand, squeezing it affectionately.

"You will have to tell it sooner or later," he said. "And you will have to tell it before the celebration tonight."

Adelaide smacked her forehead and groaned. "Holy flamingos…I totally forgot all about the party…Eowyn and I are supposed to be planning that damn thing! She'd better not try to spike the punch this time. There's enough beer floating around without it getting dumped in the strawberry punch."

* * *

In Edoras, a meeting was held in the Golden Hall, between the Fellowship and Theoden. Merry and Pippin were the first to tell their tale, and all listened in interest as they recounted the narrative of their capture by orcs, the fall of Boromir, and their own escape into Fangorn Forest, where they met up with Treebeard. Adelaide was immensely interested in the Ent drought, and even Legolas laughed ("Ah, you have drunk the waters of the Ents, have you?"). Gandalf wanted to hear everything about the Entmoot, while Theoden just sat and marveled at the young hobbits (having never seen a person over ten years of age that was shorter than he). Gimli was fascinated by the events at Isenguard, and Legolas wanted a description of each Ent. Aragorn was just pleased to know that his thoughts in the escape of the hobbits had been correct.

And then, they all turned to Adelaide. She carefully and quietly related all that she had undergone, from the moment of her capture on up to her very random escape.

"What did you think of Sauruman?" Gandalf asked. "I'm very interested in your opinion of him."

"He's a doddering old windbag who lives next to the peas in an icebox."

"But what did you tell him?" Theoden leaned forward anxiously. "Anything?"

"No. He told me just to tell him, because 'it is hard for a young woman to hold her tongue,' but I told him that everyone I really trusted was telling me TO hold my tongue—"

"And it's a good thing you did," remarked Aragorn.

"—And that I was not to count the chickens before they hatched. He got steamed up and then started telling me all about these little delights which I might like to have if I gave him information. Don't roll your eyes, Gandalf, I already did that."

"And to think that Grima Wormtongue himself helped you escape," said Eomer. "I could almost forgive him. But how could you dare trust him?"

"I dunno…there was something in his manner that just decided for me. You know how I get," she said, a little crossly. "I can just sort of sense these things. I was scared, but he started talking about Eowyn and how worried he was for her. So I told him not to worry, that she was going to be fine. Then he let me go." She didn't tell them about the army that Grima had seen, or the tear that had rolled down his cheek. They wouldn't have understood it.

"That's all?" asked Aragorn. You told Sauruman nothing?"

"Nothing."

"And so Frodo remains a secret?"

"Absolutely."

"The story's ending remains a secret?"

"Ditto."

Aragorn sighed. "Well!" he said. "I can sleep soundly tonight. Nothing more can be said about the matter; you're safe and that's what matters. Thank you for being so secretive, and for holding your tongue!"

"You're welcome."

"Gandalf?"

"I have only one question," said Gandalf. "About Sauruman and…er…his wiles. What exactly did he tempt you with, other than your feminine side?"

Adelaide laughed. "Kittens, a garden of my own, jewels by the pound, gowns to suit me, pinks and ruffles, a female attendant, a human guard, and just about everything he thought a young girl could fancy."

Gandalf laughed merrily. "Then he underestimated our Adelaide!"

"I'll say." Gimli snorted. "Even Boromir couldn't reach Adelaide with all his talk about Gondor and jewels and silver and gold gowns. That's just not her style. But he seemed to get you anyway," he teased her. Adelaide shrugged.

"Ah, well, I have my moments. It beats living like a slob. Besides, it felt really nice. I haven't had my hair shampooed since Lothlorien. So don't laugh."

"We're not," they answered in unison.

"Good. Now that that's over with, I'm going to help Eowyn. None of you are allowed in the Golden Hall for the next five hours. But just in case ANYONE tries peeking, I've stationed Gamling outside the door. He's got orders to kick nosers in the nuts."

* * *

So, for the next five hours, Adelaide and Eowyn did what they were best at—planning a party. They hadn't had one since Adelaide had first arrived in Middle Earth, and was taken to Edoras. Naturally the girls could not do much by way of decorations, but Eowyn oversaw the cooking, and Adelaide arranged tables and chairs so that there was dancing space. Tables groaned under the weight of a variety of breads, cheeses, wines and ale, slabs of roast boar and wild game; there were desserts and salads aplenty! The Hall would be filled with music and revelry, and the two young women wanted everything to be perfect! When she and Eowyn were finally alone for a moment, both girls raced to dress for the victory celebration. Merry and Pippin were taken elsewhere for a bath and clean clothes. Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas went elsewhere to change their clothing. And at last, when all had been prepared, the hall of Edoras was truly a sight to behold. Tables lined the hall, overflowing with good things to eat, and lights were shining brightly. The place was merry as a tavern!

In a separate room, Adelaide and Eowyn laughed over past events and dressed themselves.

"What will you wear, Addy…your little black dress, or the red gown?"

Adelaide sighed. "I just don't KNOW, Eowyn. The little black dress is sexy, but the red gown seems more appropriate. I don't know. What would you wear?"

"I think you should wear the black one," Eowyn said. "It shows off so well your lovely figure!"

"Oh, shut it," Adelaide sighed, looking at herself bleakly in a mirror. "Look, I have a little pot-belly pudge, and my ass sticks out like a 'shroom on a tree. Plus, I've got size-D boobs. From the side, I look like an 'S.' It's so embarrassing. The red gown covers more, I think. What are you wearing? Oh, is that your blue gown I made you for your birthday?"

"None prettier," Eowyn held it up to her and twirled. "Do you think it becomes me?"

"You look like an angel, honey. Wearing your hair down?"

"Will you?"

"I think I'll put mine up for starters. It can get in the way while dancing."

"Adelaide you promised to teach me a tango."

"Only basic steps, I'm afraid. I suck at dancing."

"Oh, you do NOT!"

"That's because all the men around here are able to lead a woman with such grace; she could have two left feet, and still make out like Ginger Rogers."

"Oh, you know how to dance," Eowyn chuckled. "Once you get out there, you'll feel comfortable enough to show off, I know you."

"If you let me get drunk and start rubbing my ass against random men's groins, I'll never forgive you."

"Does the Elf count?" Eowyn asked innocently. Adelaide threw a slipper at her.

"Hey, girl, yes he does! Did you arrange the playlist?"

"I did…and guess what I put down first?"

"_Sex Bomb_?"

"No. _I Feel Like a Woman_." Eowyn's eyes sparkled; they dazzled with the thrill and exhilaration of being a free woman of a victorious people. Tonight she was with her friend and the man she loved.

"Do you think Aragorn will ask me to dance?"

Adelaide smiled. "I'm sure he will," she said, trying to be cheerful about it. She didn't know what else to say. For Pete's Sakes, it was a celebration. Aragorn needed to be cheerful, and at least try to indulge a lady. And then, laughing, she stood up and began to waltz about the room. Eowyn laughed and caught hold of her. Together the girls danced about in private before a guard stuck his head in and announced that the festivities were about to begin.

* * *

In another room, Elf, Man, and Dwarf had bathed (Aragorn had even shaved a bit!) and had dressed in outfits a bit more casual. But there was an air of unnatural nervousness in the room. Aragorn was shifting from foot to foot, and Gimli was chewing a wad of tobacco. Legolas was staring out the window, wondering what Adelaide might look like in the glow of a festive hall.

Aragorn was feeling very nervous. It was not the fact that the celebration was being done on a night that ought to be used for laying plans as to the large battle for Middle Earth, but the fact that Eowyn might want to dance with him. She had been very friendly towards him, and ever since he had met her there had been a strange and uncomfortable silence. She seemed to be casually flirting with him, a look with her shy eyes or a bold move to laugh and present him with her virtuous characteristics. Mind you, Aragorn was fond of Eowyn, and felt that indeed, she was a beautiful maiden. But he just did not love her. He could not. Arwen was still fresh in his heart and mind, and he could not abandon her for Eowyn, even if she was good-looking with skills to boot.

He figured that it would be polite to ask Eowyn to dance. That was something a lot of ladies would want, and he was counting on dancing with Adelaide as well, like a father-daughter thing. Besides, one just did not go to a celebration without dancing with a lady. It was etiquette. And it was polite. He would have to ask Eowyn. He only hoped that the girl was not falling in love with him. Nothing pained him more than to see a woman in pain because a man she loved did not love her in return. There were few things, he thought grimly to himself, that compared in grief to the heartache of a woman who is not loved in return. He had often wanted to ask Adelaide about it, to know if she had ever experienced those feelings before. Had she ever experienced such pain that he himself was feeling?

He sighed and turned to Legolas.

The Elf, he realized, needed to stay sober tonight.

* * *

In the hall, the men and women lined about the tables stood together, and raised their mugs high. Theoden, upon his throne, was holding his cup aloft. He looked like a Zeus, broad of build, and girt with green, red, and gold, and his eyes were like lightning-bolts themselves as he spoke in a voice like thunder.

"Tonight we remember those who gave their blood to defend our country," he said. "Hail the victorious dead!"

"Hail the victorious dead!" came the reply, and everyone—men, women, an Elf, and one dwarf—raised their mugs to their lips in silent recognition and remembrance.

* * *

The Double Trouble Team had outdone themselves. Eowyn and Adelaide were pressed with praises from all sides on the magnificent victory feast that had been planned and executed with nimble thoroughness. Music blared from Adelaide's laptop in a corner of the room, and the floor was flooded with couples dancing. Men and women laughed, exchanged stories and jokes, and let the halls flow with their mirth. Merry and Pippin were dancing on a table and singing lustily. Gandalf and Aragorn stood awkwardly by in a corner, exchanging soft words. Once, Gandalf's eyes met those of Pippin, and they shared a long look, for Pippin was thinking of the Palantir, and Gandalf was worried about precisely that. But he had not time for much reflection. Adelaide came, dressed in her little black dress (she decided to be sexy that evening), she pulled Gandalf out from hiding and made him dance with her. That left Aragorn to stand around awkwardly until the next song played, and Adelaide came back around to rescue him from Wallflowerdom.

Meanwhile, Gimli shifted, and disappeared into the crowd. He came back with a large pint of ale.

"Gimli!" cried Legolas. "What are you doing?"

"Drinking, lad, and enjoying the bounty," huffed the dwarf. "We dwarves are no less in our delights than Elves. You like your wine, and we like our beer. Besides, me and the men are going at it tonight!"

"What do you mean?"

"We're having a sport tonight! Drink, drink, drink! Here, lad, try some." He gave the mug to Legolas, who took it, sniffed at it, and made a face.

"I do not think that I could drink that stuff," he said.

"Oh, come off it," said Gimli, and pounded Legolas on the back. "Go on, lad, and just try it!"

"_What_ are we doing?"

"Drinking, lad!"

"No pauses," said Eomer, who was filling mugs. "No stopping."

"And no regurgitation," rumbled Gimli, taking up a mug. The men around him roared with laughter.

Legolas paused. "So…it's a drinking game."

There were cheers from the men as they clapped Legolas on the back. The Elf had figured it out. Legolas looked very embarrassed. "And exactly what is the point of it?" he asked. Gimli stared at him.

"Last one standing wins!" he cried, and there were cheers all around. Legolas raised the mug to his lips and let the beer slide down his throat. It didn't taste so bad, but from the corner of his eye he saw Gimli chugging his ale down without any trouble at all. Determined not to be outdone, Legolas tipped his head back and downed the ale as quick as he could. The men were delighted to see this kind of behavior from an Elf—it tickled their fancy immensely.

Eowyn had eaten her fill, and was now moving with a cup of mead to find Aragorn. Her heart flipped and turned inside of her chest as she thought of him whom she loved. He was so brave, so handsome, and so…so like a protective adult, grim and yet wise, with the strength and beauty of kings of old. She would dance with him this night, if he asked her to. She hoped he would. He'd better! Good heavens, but it was the polite thing to do, and besides, she wanted to dance with him.

She finally found him meandering about, looking a bit glum and out of place. Poor thing, she thought; it's up to me to help him feel at home! So she approached him boldly with the cup of mead. When she spoke, however, her voice was shy and quiet.

"Westu, Aragorn hal!" she spoke, turning a bit pink.

"Westu, Eowyn hal," he returned, and took the cup. For a moment, his hands lingered upon hers, and she did not let go of the cup. But he looked into her eyes, and she looked up into his, and the uncomfortable silence now spanned between them like the Atlantic Ocean. Eowyn's hands trembled, and the look that passed between them was bittersweet—sweet on her side and bitter on his. At last, Eowyn let go of the cup, Aragorn took it, and drank of it. Eowyn watched him. What to say, what to say, what to say! But then he handed the cup back to her, nodded his head politely, and headed back into the crowd. Eowyn watched him, a deep affection in her eyes, but with a feeling that she had been dumb enough not to say anything.

Theoden approached her, and she turned. He had been watching her, and now had a slight but delightful feeling that Aragorn possibly loved his niece, and his niece was in love with Aragorn. Ah, young love! To be young and foolish again, and best of all…to be young upon a night of dancing and celebration!

"I am happy for you, sister-daughter," he spoke her Eowyn, and she blushed. "He is an honorable man."

"You are both honorable men." Eowyn was red as a beet.

"It was not Theoden of Rohan who led our people to victory," he said softly. Eowyn looked at him, her face troubled. But Theoden smiled.

"Bah…don't listen to me. I am an old humbug. You are young, and tonight is for you. You have played a great role in helping our people. You shall one day make a fine mother, or a queen."

Eowyn smiled, still pink. Theoden put his arm about her.

"You and Adelaide should entertain us tonight," he chuckled. "Have you got one of your little plays prepared? I don't think you should let this night pass without the honor of a demonstration of such lovely talent! Humph, the two finest ladies in all of Middle Earth, and I have to share them. Sometimes I wonder if it's even fair. But go on with you, find Adelaide, and enjoy yourself."

Eowyn nodded and moved off in the direction of the nearest corner, intent on being a wallflower until Aragorn asked her to dance. She did not, of course, remain there for long, since many other gallant men asked for a dance, but finally Aragorn shuffled over, looking a smidgen guilty, and he coughed into his hand, feeling lower than dirt.

"Erm…a-hem, my lady…might I have this dance?"

* * *

Round and round the beer went as Legolas and Gimli kept quaffing down mugfuls of the stuff. After his sixteenth beer, Gimli burped and reached for another.

"Aye!" he gurgled. "It's the dwarves that go swimming…with little hairy women…"

Legolas took up another, and chugged it down; then he stopped for a moment, rubbing the tips of his fingers together.

"I feel something," he said softly, and Eomer glanced at him, amused. "A slight tingling in my fingers…I think it's affecting me."

Gimli burped again. "What'd I tell ye…he can't hold it…can't hold…it…" Gimli slid out of his chair backwards, falling to the floor in complete knockout. Legolas glanced at him, and then at his own pile of mugs on the table, numbering eighteen at least. He hiccupped.

"Game over," he smiled wryly. He was feeling a tad tipsy.

Through his tipsy eyes, he could see Adelaide dancing on the floor. The young woman was—did Americans call THAT dancing?—doing something with her body to the beat of a very wild and loud song, but she seemed comfortable and at home with it. Come to think of it, the Elf thought to himself, as he slid into a chair, that form of body movement was very nice indeed. Oh, yes, indeed! No female Elf that he knew of could ever dance like that…the movements were raw, hot, and burning with passion. It was incredible. And she said she couldn't dance! It was not elegant, like the graceful waltzes that were usually played at Elven festivals, but it certainly appealed to the more carnal nature of the Prince of Mirkwood. His guard was very much down, and, at the moment, the object of his affection was looking extremely tasty.

It didn't help that _Fergalicious_ was playing. Americans! They listened to the oddest music!

The Elf was completely struck dumb when Adelaide came over his way only to be accosted by Eomer, who escorted her out to the floor and began to dance with her. The song had changed, and now Adelaide and her foster-brother were laughing as he tried to keep in step with her. Legolas felt his blood grow hot. She should be dancing with an expert, his drunken mind exclaimed. Yes! Definitely! And what better expert than an Elf? He was only a little tipsy. The Elf still had a fairly good command over his body, and he stumbled out to where Adelaide was trying to follow Eomer's clumsy movements. He had quaffed a good deal of ale, himself!

"Pardon me," Legolas said. "But may I cut in?"

"You may, and with better (hic) luck than I," Eomer hiccupped.

Adelaide felt the Elf take up her hand and wrap his arm around her waist, pulling her very, very close. She swallowed hard. This was not the time nor the place to make a scene. As the music changed to something slow and romantic, she could not help but be overwhelmed by the strong sense of security the Elf offered. It felt so good to feel adored, to be pressed lovingly against a strong, warm, male body and feel that everything would be okay no matter what. She risked a glance into his eyes. Oh, hell no, not again. Those liquid brown eyes would drown her.

"You're as nervous as a rabbit, my lady," Legolas whispered huskily. "Calm yourself."

Calm herself? When she was falling in love like this? Adelaide felt frightened.

"So…nice party," she said weakly.

"Do you forget who planned it?"

"No…uh…how are you liking it?"

"I find no fault with it."

He had been DRINKING! Adelaide recoiled a little in disgust. "I thought you didn't like mortal beer."

"I changed my mind. It is delightfully intoxicating." Legolas gave her one of his glances. His eyes pierced hers, and they drilled into her, plunging into pools of midnight, sending her mind spinning like never before. She tried to look away, tried to break the hold. But Legolas had her in his arms now, and he wasn't about to let go. When the song was over, she tried to wiggle free, but the Elf would not hear of it.

"Lady," he said softly. "You are staying with me."

It was not an invitation. It was a command. Adelaide gulped; tried to weakly break free of his grip. But this was an Elf, and his grip was firm.

"No," he said quietly. "I will not let others near you tonight, my lady. Tonight you are mine. I have waited for this for months, lady. Come. Dance with me now, ere I forget that we are in the presence of others. I could verily lose myself to the pleasure of love, my lady."

It was dominant and romantic, and Adelaide had starved for such attention, and Legolas knew it. He caught her up in another dance, and did not think, but let himself be carried by the music. He carried her with him, and she followed obediently, almost blindly. Her heart was ready to rip through her chest and fall out, still beating, onto the floor. She felt as giddy and drunk as a schoolgirl in love. Ah, love! To be in it again, and know that there was someone who loved her, wanted her, needed her…and to know she could give it in return!

Adelaide felt herself becoming lost in a torrent of love and adoration for this handsome Elf that held her so close and so protectively. The warmth of his body, the silken feel of the clothes he wore, and the faint tickle of his golden hair against her cheek all served to sharpen her senses about who she was with. She looked up at him, and saw that this was no mere Elf; it was an Elven Prince who held her tenderly, and danced so well. She saw his gentle eyes, his smooth skin, and his pointed ears, all milk-white and soft as a kitten's purr. She could feel his life. Oh, but it was so hard to admit that Elves actually lived and breathed, when so often they seemed to be beings of angelic, hazy fantasy. But Legolas was so real. She could feel the blood in his hands, the beating of his heart within his chest, and the whisper of his breath as it stirred her curls. She wanted to be closer, so close…

_OI! BITCH, WHAT ABOUT FRODO?_

His hands moved down a bit until they rested on her ass.

_Frodo? Yes, I think I love him._

He put his lips to her hair and murmured a lot of Elvish praise.

_Don't think. Know. Remember him, in the sweet days of the Shire? Remember how he took your hand and led you to his bed, where he would then undress you and then love you until you cried for mercy? Don't you betray him!_

He pressed his groin closer; she felt the first stab of his erection.

_I'm not…I just want to be with Legolas right now._

_Right now? Right now is going to quickly turn into Later on, if you're not careful, you idiot! You just wait. It'll be a tug-of-war, and then you will have to choose. And then what will you do?_

"Valar," he murmured. "Where have you been, my love? Tell me, sweet maiden, why have you hidden from me for so long?"

"Legolas," she said (oh, her voice was suddenly drowsy…she wanted him too, like he wanted her…). "I think I need to sit down, please."

"Will you leave me in the middle of our tenth song?"

Holy shit, how long had they been dancing? Adelaide suddenly snapped to life. She wasn't the one who was drunk. And she had a boyfriend. And as painful as it was, she needed to break free NOW.

Eowyn saved her.

"Adelaide," she said breathlessly. "They're waiting for you to sing, and we MUST do our skit in honor of my brother. Come on, please!"

"Whoops! So sorry, Legolas, gotta go, maybe next time, hold my dancing card, don't wait up, grab another girl, well so long, see you, have fun, go drink some more ale!" Adelaide whisked back into the crowd with Eowyn.

_I swear, she will be in my bed ere this journey ends. And she, not I, will be the one to come. I will ask nothing of her. I swear that she will come to me on her own._

Adelaide was accustomed to giving performances, and her singing went over tremendously well. But it was the skit that the Double Trouble Team put on that went over famously. It was a parody about Eomer and Eowyn on a typical day in the home, and everyone laughed so hard and clapped so loudly that Eomer blushed with pride and didn't even bother to scold Adelaide and his sister for including the incident with the slugs and his underwear.

For the rest of the night, however, Adelaide avoided Legolas. She was frightened of dancing with him again and getting lost in sensations that were not his to receive. She could have kicked herself for opting for the sexy look and inviting trouble, but she argued stubbornly that this was not completely her fault anyway. If Frodo had let her come along, life wouldn't be so shitty at the moment.

Aragorn sat down beside her.

"You can't be footsore already. Why are you hiding?"

"I don't want to dance anymore. Legolas is pestering me again."

"I saw the two of you dancing. If I may say so, he's drunk, and you're a flirt."

"I didn't mean to be. And anyway, I'm lonely. He makes me feel good all over again, and then I get scared because—"

"You love Frodo, but you're afraid you're falling in love with Legolas."

"Exactly."

"Adelaide, do you know what kind of a situation I'm in right now?"

"Erm…no, not precisely. You haven't mentioned a whole lot about it."

"Let me tell you that though the welcome arms of another may be tempting, only your conscience can guide you. And I think your conscience is telling you now that Legolas is not for you. Do not tempt him any further, especially right now. His blood is up, and he may try anything. Now, let us speak no more of this. I respect you as an adult; I expect you to behave like one. Come, it is nigh on midnight, and you are still dancing. What are you trying to do, wear holes in your slippers?" he laughed. "I had to bathe your feet once today. Do not make me do it again. Not that I would mind, but indeed, once is enough for a strong girl like you."

"Aw, you yuk," said Adelaide cheerfully and swatted playfully at his head.

* * *

Legolas refilled his mug and quaffed the whole thing down. He had now quaffed over fifty mugs of hard Rohan ale, and, though Elves could usually hold their liquor fairly well, this stuff was getting to him. He ignored Gimli's protests and watched with glazed, frustrated eyes as Aragorn led Adelaide swiftly from the room. The excitement was dying down, and everyone was ready to stretch out on the floor in peace. The Elf, however, was wide awake, extremely drunk, and full of erotic passions. It wasn't fair that the object of his affections kept slipping through his fingers. In fact, it was downright silly. He was an Elf, for cryin' out loud, and she was a stupid little mortal who hadn't the decency to recognize an Elven Prince when she saw one. He was as good as any mortal bastard who had tools and jewels…in fact, he was much, much better.

Gimli finally caught up with Aragorn and yanked on his jerkin.

"The Elf's dead drunk," he pleaded. "Don't let him do anything foolish, Aragorn!"

* * *

**Okay. Now, you KNOW something is going to happen, harr-harr!**


	5. Pippin Goes Bowling

Chapter 5

Pippin Goes Bowling

**Okay, you were waiting for something to happen…and it finally does.**

**

* * *

**

Later that night, as everyone basically camped out on the floor (no one wanted to do dishes, or even look at another buttered roll), Adelaide awoke and stared about her. The whole room was dark, and only a little light shone through a window—the light of the stars. Aragorn was not far away from her, and at his side was Gimli, a beer mug still tightly clenched in his hand. Gandalf slept upon a little mattress he had made for himself, with the Palantir under his pillow. The hobbits were away in the corner, sleeping soundly. And Adelaide needed a breath of fresh air. Her stomach hurt from all the dinner and dancing, and besides that, she was frustrated at herself. Her heart felt ripped in two, and sleep was impossible.

Adelaide got to her feet. She had long since changed into her nightgown, but as it really was very chilly, she slipped on her Elven cloak and then stepped carefully between bodies, her feet moving like a cat's, soft and noiseless. She'd go out on the terrace and breathe a bit and walk around. Maybe talk to herself. Talking to oneself always did a body a load of good, even if it was a little weird at times.

As she climbed the steps and broke out onto the balcony of the terrace, she noticed that the moon and stars seemed almost veiled, and that something was threatening in the night. The very air, though cold, throbbed with something unexplainable. And standing there at the edge of the terrace, overlooking the plains, was a certain Elf of Mirkwood, his hood covering his face, and his tall form outlined by the moon. His back was to her, but she was downwind, and could smell the ale from here. Holy shit, just how much had the Elf swigged? Adelaide started to leave, but the Elf's voice froze her.

"Good evening, my lady. You're out late. You should be sleeping with the rest of them."

He was remarkably in control of himself, for being drunk. Maybe he was a heavyweight.

"I needed some fresh air," she squeaked (damn it, Adelaide, don't squeak, talk to him like a normal human being). Legolas gave her a very dopey grin.

"Ahh-hah, lady. Had a bit too much yourself, yes?" He swaggered towards her, and she backed up, considerably disgusted. "M-m-my lady, there's no need to…I am not THAT repulsive, am I? Surely not. You…you're such a princess…you wouldn't refuse me, the Prince of Mirkwood."

"Legolas what the _fuck_ are you _talking_ about?"

He drew himself up and caught her arm. He was angry; she could see that. "You!" he spat into her face. "You…every other maiden…but you…I could have bent every single one of them over a chair…the way you mortals say you like it…but you…you don't want me…have never wanted me…"

Adelaide jerked back angrily. He was drunk and acting like a silly little schoolboy who didn't get an A+ on his report card. She matched him, temper for temper.

"Well, how long did it take for that information to sink in, or did the beer make it do that?" she snapped. "Get your hands off me. You're nothing but a drunken animal right now, and you're going to have a hangover the size of Russia in the morning. Go to bed, you idiot."

"Not," the Elf said. "Unless you come with me."

"I'll do no such thing," Adelaide said coldly, surprised at the authority and maturity in her voice. "You're going to turn around, march your ass downstairs, and go sleep in the hall, like the rest of them."

"Oh, so the Princess of Middle Earth commands her Elven lord?" Legolas laughed loudly. "Insult on top of injury, is that it? You devilish little fiend…Haldir was right. You are a dragon. Eru help the fool who marries you. You play with me, lady, like a dog with a piece of meat. You like shredding me up, don't you? I'm your little plaything, aren't I? I'm your dartboard, am I not? What a cruel game, lady…what a vicious, cruel game. Hawk…you are a hawk, with the eyes of a demon and the beak of a bird of prey. But a hawk, gratefully, can be tamed."

He grabbed at her, but she had already anticipated his groping hands, and stepped lightly out of reach.

"If you think for one minute that I'm going to sit here and let you get on board, you're dead wrong," she said coldly. "I made a huge mistake tonight in wearing what I did, and acting like I did, but I felt confidant and happy for once in a long time, and you decided to take advantage of that, despite the fact I've told you, time and again, that I've got a boyfriend I'm devoted to. You're a good friend, Legolas, but it can't go any further than that. Now put a lock on those lips and go get some sleep. I can guarantee that a hangover is absolutely no fun if you haven't slept it off."

She turned to go. There was nothing more to be said, and better to leave now than tempt him any further. Adelaide had little experience with drunken males, but she'd heard enough credible stories to know the proper thing to do with them, especially if they were getting a little too friendly. You walked away and went someplace safe, with people around.

But she was unprepared for the ferocity of a drunken Elf. Legolas may have been unstable in the brain-box, but he was not so far gone that the beer had taken a strong hold on his body. In three swift strides he had her by the wrist; he yanked her violently to him and crushed her body against his, brutally mashing his lips down over hers to stifle the scream rising in her throat. He forced her back against the stone wall, pinning her there solidly. She felt his fingers dig into her skin, and then pain, real, honest-to-God pain, as the Elf pulled her head back by her hair, and feverishly bestowed hot, furious kisses along her throat and chest. His hand was up, fondling her breast through the light cloth, brushing a thumb painfully over one nipple, while he nipped at her throat, drawing blood slightly. Adelaide gave a strangled yelp as the Elf's hand then moved down from her breast, coursing over her belly, to her groin, and, damn it, he was threatening to lift up her nightgown and then go up into the no-touchy zone—which is what most certainly would have happened—

—had Adelaide not kneed him quite viciously in the privates.

The Elf let go of her fast, and she stumbled back from him. He hunched over slightly, staring at her in shock and anger. Then he straightened and shook his head, trying to clear his vision. That had been one nasty blow, not only to his privates, but to his pride as well. But Adelaide was disgusted. She'd had quite enough of Elvish pride, and, though shaken by the ferocity of his attack, was sober enough to make one of her own.

She marched up to the Elf and slapped him soundly across the face.

* * *

Then, she went for a walk. She left the Elf with something to think about, but she was confidant that he would not follow her. Her blood was up, and a fighting spirit rose inside her heart. She was tired of putting up with everyone's bullshit: Legolas' romantic ardors, petty disagreements between rulers, all the enemies out to nab the Walking Information Center, and Aragorn's annoying "parental judgment." She'd be damned if she was going to sit there and be a pawn to be talked about, gossiped between, and fought over! For too long she had felt like a child being pulled and ordered around, and now, with this final incident with Legolas, she could nail her feelings on the head.

She felt like nothing but a fucking pawn!

At least in the Shire she had some meaning; she could order her life and live it and love it as she could, and nobody told her what to do. She followed rules and hobbit etiquette, and if she ever made a mistake, she pulled herself up out of the mud and fixed it. She felt alive, free, and happy. Now, however, in the grand scheme of things, she was nothing but a stupid pawn. Sauruman and Sauron had fought over her; Sauruman had got there first and only wanted her for her information. Aragorn and Gandalf were constantly trying to protect her, going to any lengths to make sure they made choices for her, even at the cost of losing her friendship with Eowyn. Legolas had absolutely no respect for her personal feelings. Theoden, Eomer, and all the rest of them…none of them had ANY regard for her personal feelings; they thought she was so special, so they contrived to keep her safe, like a museum relic.

"I'M NOT A FUCKING MUSEUM RELIC!" she shrieked angrily to the sky. The stars danced in reply, and Adelaide stubbornly thought: damn you, Varda. Teasing your prophetess, hey?

She sniffed, and then sat down on the grassy ground, not far from the Golden Hall, and began to cry again. She realized, of course, that her safety was important, but she hated to think that everyone she thought a friend was, at heart, a deceptive nincompoop who had no regard for one's personal feelings. And she hated, also, to think that she was so special that everyone should treat her that way. She wished, in that moment, that she could be completely ignorant of Tolkien and everything he'd ever made. Not because Sauron might put her on the torture rack, but because it was hurtful enough to even think that her friends were the real enemies.

Even Legolas.

* * *

Inside Edoras, Aragorn tossed and turned, feeling restless about Arwen. He could feel that something was going on in Rivendell, but he just couldn't put his finger on it. He woke quietly and looked around, finding, to his concern, that Adelaide was gone. He sighed and got up, intending to look for her. She had him worried of late; she seemed very much transformed overnight from a childish young maid to a young woman who knew and understood the weight of responsibility. It had happened so quickly; he didn't know what to make of it, and was therefore worried. He rubbed his head, a feeling of stupidity welling up in his body. He didn't like giving Adelaide directions or guidance; she had come to resent his instruction, and shook him off like an unwanted bug. But he loved her dearly, and wished he could give her the world for an inheritance. She was capable of many good and valiant deeds, and he had no doubt that she would make even a formidable soldier, if given the training and the chance.

Sighing, he walked through the hall of Edoras, passing the sleeping form of Eowyn on the couch, modestly away from the men. The fire within the fire pit that had previously been warming the room had died down, and Eowyn appeared to be shivering slightly. Aragorn paused, and knelt down by the fire, tending to it with the logs to build up the warmth some more. Then he stood beside Eowyn's couch, and covered her delicate white foot with the hem of the robe that covered her. His hand moved up gently and tucked in her shoulder a bit more snugly. He turned to go when her voice spoke up softly.

"What time is it?"

"It is not yet morn," he replied gently, and turned again, but her soft white hand flew out and caught his own. He looked down at her. Eowyn's eyes were open sleepily, and she had the look of one who had just seen something disturbing.

"Do not go," she said softly. "Please. I…I had such a dream."

He knelt down beside her and listened as she stared blankly off into space. Her voice did not seem her own.

"I dreamed of a white wave," she whispered. "Overshadowing everything, and I…I stood upon the crest looking down into the void before me. But there was no light. Yet there was a light that shone behind me, and I could hardly face my fate!" She trembled in real childlike concern. Aragorn knew the feeling well. He himself had had such dreams before; they were not unusual to him, and yet everything had turned out well. He patted her hand comfortingly.

"Night distorts many things," he said gently. "Sleep, Eowyn." He tenderly put her hands away, tucking them down beneath her chin and over her breast, in a warm spot below the blanket. "Sleep while you can."

Eowyn was sound asleep when he finally left her, but there was a pit in his stomach, as if he had just kicked a dog. For some reason, he wanted to kiss her and tell her not to be frightened, but the basic idea was to ignore such feelings; to refrain from giving in. There was only one love in his life, and that love was Arwen, far away though she was. Whether she went to Valinor or not, there would never be another woman for him. The idea was to remain faithful. Of course, it was darn hard to be just that, with another beautiful woman who had no engagements. Believe me, folks, Aragorn felt that pull from Eowyn. She was attractive, and he would have been the first to raise his hand to confirm the statement. She was going to keep the suitors sweating, that was certain. Like any other man, he felt himself admiring her as a man admires a woman. But there was something that made him feel uncomfortable with that. Arwen was his beloved, and none other would do for him.

He was glad, in that regard, that he could find companionship in Adelaide, for her love was also very sorely tested. He had not had a chance to speak with her on the matter, although he felt right shy about bringing up the topic of her best friend, when she seemed to be a go-between for two ladies plus himself. And speaking of Adelaide, where was the girl?

He climbed the stairs to the terrace, and took out his pipe, ready for a smoke and some fresh air at the same time. Legolas too, was up on the terrace, and his whole body, though formally taut and angry, was now peaceful and neutral. Adelaide was nowhere in sight. Aragorn felt his heart jump into his throat. He approached Legolas, feeling stupid. Legolas had his back to him, and his features were calm, although there was a definite struggle in his heart. Now there was nothing, and when Aragorn looked at his face, he saw that the features were set, and there was a decision in the Elf's mind.

"Legolas?" he asked. "Where is Adelaide?"

The Elf said nothing, did nothing. But his eyes had a cold, hard look in them, and that was enough to let Aragorn know that something between them _had_ happened…

"Legolas?" Aragorn was firm. "She has not come back inside. Where is she?"

The Elf ignored him, and focused, rather on the East. "The stars are veiled," he murmured. "Something stirs in the East…a sleepless malice. The Eye of the Enemy is moving."

The Elf was either dead on, or dead drunk.

* * *

Inside Edoras, Pippin also tossed restlessly in his sleep. He couldn't help but think of that great big black globe he had held in his hands at Isenguard before Gandalf had rather rudely taken it away, without a word of explanation. After all, he had found it, and it was nothing but a big black bowling ball. It was very interesting, anyway. Adelaide had once told them all about bowling, and how you stuck your fingers so-so in the three holes of the ball and rolled it down the lane at ten pins. This ball had not holes, and it glowed! Pippin tossed and turned until he couldn't stand it anymore and stood up.

Quietly, he padded between the sleepers on the floor and came over to Gandalf's little cot. He gasped. The wizard's eyes were open, and staring right at him. A little breath came from his nose, and his chest gently rose and fell. And under his arm he held a bundle, all to obviously wrapped. It was the bowling ball! Pippin was discouraged. Gandalf might wake up when he tried to take the ball…he looked around for something he could use as a decoy.

Finding a water pitcher nearby, he quickly made the exchange and hurried back to his bedside beside Merry. Merry woke up, as was his nature when he sensed his friend was up and moving.

"Pippin!" he hissed. "Pippin, what are you doing?"

"I just want to look at it again," said Pippin, unwrapping the ball. "Just one last time."

"Pippin, no!"

Merry's words were in vain. Pippin took hold of the ball and looked into it. It was certainly a pretty, interesting thing, with that funny glow that seemed to be in the very heart of the stone…

"Pippin, are you mad?" hissed Merry. "Put it back!"

Pippin looked into the ball. Suddenly, it light up from the inside out, and the whole ball seemed to throb in his hands. Pippin's adrenaline raced, and his forehead broke out into a sweat. He trembled. Merry sat up.

"Pippin!"

Pippin's eyes suddenly widened, and his body went rigid. He tried to close his eyes, but voices could be heard, voices that scared him. It seemed to be the same tongue that Gandalf had used at the Council of Elrond, concerning the words of the Ring…

All at once, a great shock, like lightening, split through the rock, and Pippin was practically knocked off his feet backwards. The ball was now a writhing mass of flame in his hands…

* * *

Legolas suddenly felt the same shock, the same lightening strike. He turned to Aragorn, fear registering in his eyes. "He is here!" he cried.

* * *

"Gandalf!" screamed Merry. "Gandalf, help!"

Gandalf was instantly awake. Upon finding the jug under his arm, and registering the matter at hand, he threw the jug across the room, stood up with staff in hand, and hurried over to Pippin, who was rolling on the ground, his hands uplifted and holding the blazing ball in his hands. The hobbit's chest was heaving, as if he wanted to say something.

"Help him, Gandalf!" screamed Merry.

* * *

Adelaide, sitting down on the ground outside the hall, by the gate, heard Pippin's scream of terror, and she quickly got to her feet, concerned. Her feet carried her back to the Hall, where everything was in turmoil. The screams had stopped, but all around, people were staring and breathing hard. Clothing, bedrolls, and pillows were strewn about in a great heap and mess. Peregrin Took lay on his back in Merry's arms, panting and sobbing, almost mute, while Gandalf had wrapped his cloak about something round. Adelaide recognized it as the Palantir. Legolas was there also, and he was supporting Aragorn, who lay on the ground as if stunned by a 5000-watt fence. She did not look at either of them (they were conspirators, the two of them, and she no longer wanted to have anything to do with them), but focused her attention on Pippin. But before she could run forward, Gandalf came and shook the hobbit.

"Peregrin Took!" he said sternly. "Look at me!"

The frightened hobbit opened his mouth and eyes, and tried to look Gandalf in the eyes, but the wizard's eyes were flashing, and poor Pippin was terrified of actually facing the wizard.

"What did you see?" asked Gandalf. Pippin stuttered, tried to speak. But he was rendered mute. Gandalf gently shook him. "Peregrin Took! Speak!"

Pippin began blubbering like a child. "I…I s-saw…I saw...things…Oh, it was…it was horrible, Gandalf…"

"What did you see, Pippin?" Gandalf voice was gentler.

"I…saw a white tree in the middle of a courtyard…it was burning…the tree was dead!"

"What else?"

Pippin shivered. "I-I-I-I saw…_Him_!"

"What did you tell him?" Gandalf gripped Pippin hard. "Speak!"

A moment later, Pippin was nestled in bed, while Adelaide bathed his forehead, and Merry sat close by. Gandalf and Aragorn stood nearby. "We have no time to lose," the wizard said gravely. "We must make haste and call council! You, Pippin, will be fine. If you feel a tingling in your palms, call me! You have acted foolishly, my lad, but perhaps there may be time to set things right. Please stay with him Adelaide, and we'll call you if we need you. Give him one of your pills, if you think that will help…Aspirin, or whatever you call it."


	6. Detective Eowyn to the Rescue!

Chapter 6

Detective Eowyn to the Rescue

**To all Adelaide's fans, I apologize for the lack of updates. Job-hunting takes up most of my time, and I've discovered a new hobby-polymer clay! I am having such FUN with it...and I want to see if I can sculpt hobbits. That would be fun...to make polymer hobbits! Anyway, I've been very, very busy, but I hope this week to have some new chapters installed. This one needed particular work because my original text gave no real solid reason for Adelaide to go to Gondor, and it was such a Mary-Sue episode that I nearly barfed, and decided to change the whole damn thing. So now Adelaide actually has a reason to go to Gondor, the flames of passion are hotter between herself and Legolas, and Eowyn reveals her inner Sherlock Holmes. Enjoy!**

**

* * *

**

When Adelaide awoke the next morning, she found that she had been moved to a bed.

And she felt sick to her stomach.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," she groaned, rolling over and promptly throwing up in her wash-bowl. Legolas was the idiot who was supposed to have a giant hangover, not her! For a change, she had barely touched beer; she'd spent all her time dancing and stuffing her face with meat pies…damn, those meat pies were good. Adelaide groaned again as she felt warm wetness bubbling up from her throat and between her lips. She held a handkerchief to her mouth to catch the blood and closed her eyes helplessly…oh, this was not going to be a good day. She checked her backpack for pain-killers, and swore when she discovered she was out of 'em.

No, this was not going to be a good day.

"Are you coming down for breakfast?" Eowyn asked.

"No."

"Are you feeling alright?" Eowyn felt her friend's forehead with concern, noting that Adelaide seemed to be running a fever. "It's that damned running dream that did it, isn't it? And you were out in that flood at Isenguard…you're probably sick as a dog, Addy!"

"I am not."

"You don't look good."

"Neither do you, in the morning," Adelaide grumbled.

"Shall I have Aragorn bring you up some soup?"

"NO." Adelaide wanted nothing to do with any of the fucking Fellowship this morning. For that matter, she wanted nothing more to do with Middle Earth. She wanted a cheeseburger, tons of chocolate chip cookies, a Pepsi, a large, fuzzy blanket, and television. LOTS of television. For hours and hours and hours, amen.

Eowyn left her and came downstairs and made the general announcement that Adelaide wasn't feeling well, wasn't hungry, and wasn't coming down. Theoden was shocked.

"What? Nonsense. That girl eats like a horse. Surely she must only be tired. She spent half the night dancing, and the other half eating. If she's made herself sick, she may have a cup of tea. Go and fetch her some, Eowyn, there's a dear lass."

Legolas stared down at the table. Nobody else seemed particularly concerned, but he was. Contrary to popular belief, Elves rarely had hangovers, and all that lingered from the night before in THIS elf's mind was the uncomfortable feeling that he had somehow hurt Adelaide. His nether regions ached from her blow to the balls (no pun intended, seriously), but he did not remember getting kicked. He didn't remember even kissing her. All he could really guess at was that something had happened between himself and the lovely lady of his dreams, and HE was the reason that she was so sick. He had a strange feeling that he ought to apologize, but he wasn't sure what he was supposed to apologize for.

Eowyn came back down. "Lord Aragorn?" she inquired. "Adelaide wishes to see you. She says she isn't feeling well, and she wants to talk with you."

Aragorn also threw down his napkin, got up, and marched past them all with a grim look on his face. Going up the flights of stairs, he finally came to the little door he knew to be her room and knocked.

"Adelaide?"

"Is that you, Aragorn? Come on in."

She was being humble and polite, for a change. He came in and sat down on the bed, taking a good look at her. Poor Adelaide! Her face was very white, and her eyes were watery. He put a hand to her forehead, wincing slightly at the fever she was obviously running. She showed him a wad of handkerchief, spotted with blood.

"I think I partied too hard," she said, trying to grin. He smiled at her.

"Did you have another running dream?"

"No…" Adelaide sighed. "I've probably caught something. The last time I was really honest-to-God-sick was in the Shire. I don't catch things very easily."

"This whole trip has been a strain on you," Aragorn said gently. "You've not complained once…well, you've had your moments, and we've all had to suffer your temper, but in general, you've never really complained. Well, what can I do for you?"

She blinked. "You're a healer. I want you to…well, heal me. Work your magic. I can't go through the day like this; there's things to do."

"Oh? You had plans?"

"Not particularly, but there's activity going on, and I don't want to lay here in bed while it all happens."

Aragorn stood. "In that case, I salute you, madam, and I shall 'work my magic,' as you so quaintly put it. First of all, take a bath and change into some fresh clothes. I'll have a servant bring you up some soup, and you drink your tea. I'll have Gandalf take a look at you, later, if he can spare the time. I've been meaning to speak to him about your health, and I don't like the looks of things. You're still coughing up blood, but you haven't shown signs of that for quite some time…the last I checked, that was in Lothlorien. Now, can you follow my orders?"

Adelaide nodded.

Aragorn left, feeling relieved. She would listen to him, now. She was beginning to realize that the world did not revolve around her, and that by listening to him, she could make a swifter recovery.

* * *

Eowyn came back upstairs and sat down by her friend. Maids were pouring hot water into a wooden tub nearby, and laying out fresh, clean clothes. Adelaide was twisting her hair into a braid. Eowyn watched her for a minute, and then flopped down on her bed.

"Are you pregnant?"

"No. I almost wish I was. At least I'd have a good reason for my mood swings."

"Did the Elf top you?"

"Eowyn! What the hell makes you say that?"

"Well, he WAS rather drunk last night."

"He got a feel-up…just because he's the stronger of the two of us," Adelaide said lightly. "There wasn't much I could do."

Eowyn was quiet for a minute. "Did you like it?"

Adelaide slipped out of her nightdress and plopped down into the tub, reaching for some of the homemade soap. She worked it into a lather between her hands thoughtfully. Leave it to Eowyn to be the practical one. There was no shyness among the women in the land of Rohan; they were hard, practical women with intelligence and that die-hard attitude. They had no fear of speaking blatantly, just as they had no fear of difficult times, which they somehow managed with ease and inner strength. Adelaide had always admired the firm stability of those women, and wished she could have the same. But she had not been born into Middle Earth.

"Yes and no," she said finally. "Yes because it DOES feel good to be adored by a handsome guy. No because I was very uncomfortable. I have a boyfriend. I ought not betray him."

"But you are not married. Do you then feel such an obligation to be faithful?"

"I do," Adelaide admitted. The soap, mingled with the warm water, felt pleasant against her skin, and numbed the cramps in her abdomen. "Especially when there's been a lot of physical activity, do you know? Maybe I made a mistake in being so darned…well, so attentive with Frodo, but that can't be helped now, and the best thing I can do is to make sure that nobody else fondles the goods as long as my lover is alive and still loves me."

"You will not give him up for dead?"

"Why should I?"

Eowyn's eyes had a mischievous sparkle to them. "You believe he will come out of all this alive? Surely your hope springs from more than simple faith and reliance on strength of arms. Are you not a prophetess?" she teased. Adelaide stared at her in shock and then giggled.

"Aren't you clever!"

"I know. My uncle claims I'm the very brains that runs Edoras, sometimes. But really, truly, Adelaide, can you tell me if I speak the truth?"

She said nothing; she only smiled. Eowyn laughed. "Ah, you tease me. But now I know, too! Your burden, however, is greater than mine, for I do not know how we may win this war. I know of nothing that will happen in the future, whereas you…you can foresee everything that will happen! But surely you will tell me…maybe…only…one thing?"

"Yes, you'll get married," Adelaide said seriously. Eowyn's face absolutely lit up with indescribable joy. She thought Adelaide meant Aragorn, and not Faramir…she'd never even met Faramir, yet, anyway. Adelaide smiled coolly. "And I'd better be your Maid of Honor, or I'll put salt in the punchbowl, instead of the intended liquor."

"Oh, Addy, to be married! To such a great man! Why, it's more than I could ever have hoped for—you're not putting one over me, are you?"

"No, I'm not. You really are going to marry a great man." Adelaide rinsed herself, stepped out of the tub, and pulled a towel around her wet body. She was grateful that there was no prudery or lesbianism among Rohirric women, either, although Eowyn politely averted her eyes while her friend dried off and dressed properly.

"By the way," she continued. "I believe I've discovered why you are ill, Addy. Have you not noticed that your body seems to be in the most turmoil when your spirit is troubled?"

"Well, that's natural. Man is a spiritual and physical being; there's no getting around that."

"Well," Eowyn said. "I've been thinking about it. You said that your mind carried you into Middle Earth. That your imagination is a very powerful thing. Do you believe in that?"

"Well, Elrond and Gandalf seemed to think that the truth of the issue. So what?"

"Did you not tell me that Gandalf said there would be side effects?"

"Yeah…"

"Well," Eowyn argued. "We all know that the mind is more than the physical brain, isn't that so? There is a spiritual, untouchable nature about it, would you agree?"

"Yes, Eowyn, where are you going with this?"

"One moment! Think, Adelaide! If your mind is part of your spiritual self, and it is troubled, then your body realizes the effects. And could not this whole transportation into Middle Earth be a troubling of your mind? Just by my imagination alone, I cannot transport myself into America."

"So you're saying that my being in Middle Earth is vexing my mind, which in turn is troubling my body?"

"I believe that to be the case, yes."

"So…just by being in Middle Earth I could be killing myself. But how? That's ridiculous. I don't feel like I'm dying."

"How long have you been here?"

"Well, including all those years in the Shire, I'd say…oh, almost nineteen years." Adelaide gave Eowyn a very weirded-out look. "Eowyn, knock it off! You're scaring the shit out of me! Nobody's dying around here, okay? I don't doubt your explanation for my illness, but I can't believe that I'm DYING. Good Lord. Let's not think about that. The idea, for me anyway, is unattractive."

"But can there be any other alternative?" Eowyn asked.

"Well, the only one that I can think of is that I just get frequent cases of mood swings. I was fine in the Shire. Never threw up or had a sick day once. Well, maybe once…yeah, that was the time I caught a cold from playing tag in a snow-covered field. That was miserable. But my health is generally pretty good. Now, I find that I cough up blood when—" she stopped. Eowyn was staring at her.

"You're coughing up blood?" she whispered.

"Oh…er…yes, I tend to do that. But only sometimes!" Adelaide said defensively. "Mainly when my mind was, as you say, vexed. See? It's vexed today, and I feel like doing violence to people. It's only when I'm violent that the blood comes up, and I'm not even sure where. I've been tested for TB before, and checked out negative each time. I'm a sane, healthy person."

"Well, if you're not dying," Eowyn said carefully. "The only other option is—"

But Adelaide never heard what Eowyn's other option was, because at that moment Gimli poked his head in. "I'm, uh, sorry to disturb you," he coughed politely. "But we need you at this council, Adelaide."

"I'm busy," came the curt reply. "Can't they do without me?"

"You're a part of our Fellowship, lass. I hate to bother you like this, but Aragorn says that he has a bowl of soup ready for you, and if you're all cleaned and changed properly, you must eat and have a discussion with us. They're considering taking him to Gondor."

* * *

She broke into the room, following Gimli, and there was Gandalf, Pippin, Legolas, Aragorn, Theoden, Merry, and Eomer. They looked up at her in surprise as she came in, wrapped up in her blanket, and Gimli helped her to sit down into a chair next to Pippin. Adelaide smiled gratefully at him, and chose to ignore the pleading look on Legolas' face. Aragorn gave her a bowl of soup.

"Ah," said Eomer. "Very good; we're now complete. Feodral, we should like your input on a matter of great delicacy."

"Wait, hold up; before you ask me the question, you'd better (in a nutshell) tell me the facts of the matter."

"The facts, young lady, is that Pippin has looked into the Palantir."

"Well, I knew that!"

"Sauron questioned him of the Ring, and Pippin, though a foolish lad, has remained loyal to the cause, and said nothing about Frodo or the Ring."

"And then," said Gandalf. "The tree that he mentioned. It is the tree of Gondor, Adelaide, for a bland name as of now. It blooms only when the king will come into his own. It has been dead for many a year now. Now Sauron thinks that Pippin has the Ring. Of course he doesn't, but that makes him dangerous now. I must get him out of Rohan, so I think that we should go to Gondor, to Minas Tirith. I myself have thought of going, to alert the lord Denethor to the uprisings of war, for Pippin has seen, in the Palantir, a piece of the Enemy's plan; Sauron hopes to attack Minas Tirith. He has already overrun Osgiliath. So I shan't be going alone. Pippin will be safe there, and I will be able to keep him out of mischief."

"Okay. So…what?"

"Didn't I tell you? You're coming along on this one, young lady. A bit of change of scenery will do you good."

Adelaide's mouth dropped. "Gandalf, I haven't heard so much bullshit in all my life. Just what do you mean when you say I'm coming along? For what purpose? And isn't Denethor the Steward there? I'll remind you that the man hates my guts, for some reason unbeknownst to me. I have no desire to go any other place where I'm not wanted. What's the point?"

"You'll help me keep an eye on Pippin."

"Oh, sure I will. You've got something up that big white sleeve of yours, or I'm a turtle."

"Well, please don't crawl too slowly today, my dear. Hurry and put on some boots. We leave in half an hour. No arguments? Good. Then it's all settled."

* * *

"I don't understand THAT move at all," Aragorn said as they walked out to the stables. "Gandalf, you have a bad habit of catching us all off guard, and you never beat around the bush. Would you mind explaining your mind to us? It would ease MY mind greatly if I had more confidence in your suggestion to bring Adelaide along."

"I meant precisely what I said…a change in scenery will do her good."

"I suppose you think that Mordor is an acceptable change of scenery!"

"My dear Aragorn, Adelaide is not a child. You cannot keep her sheltered from the Shadow forever, especially if she is to face it—and I know that she must, for good or for evil, in the end. Besides, do you not think I don't know what's going on right now? The young woman loves and misses Frodo, and if being closer to Mordor is any way of being closer to him, she'll take it and love every minute of it. Also, it will give your Elf time to 'cool his jets,' as Addy might say. I am not unaware of the attentions he pays to her, and she is weakening. It will be a good thing for them to be apart from each other for a while. Legolas must concentrate on the battle at hand, and Adelaide must pour all her efforts into helping to prepare as she may."

"But Gandalf, she's ill," Aragorn said, a little lamely.

"Of course she's ill. Did I not say that her imagination would give her some side-effects? She can no longer afford to deny them, as you saw this morning. I was pleased to hear that she took your advice. She is learning to meld with our world, and that could be a very good thing—or it may kill her. I don't presume to know very much at this point. But going to Gondor will do her good. Yes, I'm certain of it! Come along, Pippin!"

* * *

Merry was very frustrated with his friend. All morning long he'd said nothing to him, hurt that Pippin could be so dumb, and yet grateful to heaven that he was smart enough to reveal nothing to Sauron. It was a test that even Gandalf had proclaimed himself unready for, and Merry knew that Pippin was so darned loyal that such connections could never be severed. But now war was approaching, and his best friend was leaving him to be at the site of battle—Gondor itself. Would they ever see each other again?

"Why did you look? Why do you always have to look?" snapped Merry.

"I can't help it!"

"You never can!"

"I'm sorry, alright?" said Pippin. "I won't do it again!"

"Pippin, this is bad," hissed Merry. "Don't you understand? The Enemy thinks you have the Ring! We have to get you out of here!"

"And you…you're coming too, Merry, right?" asked Pippin. Merry just glared at him and walked on. "Merry?" cried Pippin. His head swam.

"Come on," grumbled Merry. "At least you'll have Adelaide with you."

"Well, you get the blonde girl," Pippin pointed out, but Merry was too far away to hear.

Behind them, Adelaide came walking with Eowyn. She was dressed in a simple homespun gown, but she wore riding boots and her Elven cape, and she wore her sword at her side—the one Galadriel had given to her.

"Please remember not to lose your temper with Denethor," Eowyn said, worried. "I met him, once. He never quite got over the death of his wife. He's not very particular about women, if I remember rightly. Just be polite."

"Polite, huh. I'll be nice if he's nice. I'm tired of trying to please everyone around here. I'm not about to put myself out for some cranky old geezer."

Gandalf helped Pippin up onto Shadowfax. "How far is it to Minas Tirith?" asked Pippin.

"Three days ride, as fast as a Nazgul flies," grunted Gandalf. "And you'd better hope we don't have one of those on our tail."

Beside them, Merry looked up at Pippin. He handed him a pouch.

"Here," he grumbled. "Something for the road." Pippin gasped.

"The last of the Longbottom leaf!" he cried.

"Take it," said Merry. "I know you've used all yours up. You smoke too much, Pip."

Pippin looked as if he would cry. "Will I ever see you again?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Merry softly. "I don't know what's going to happen." Pippin started to panic.

"Merry? I don't want to leave you behind!" Pippin clutched Gandalf's arm. "I don't want to leave Merry," he whispered.

Adelaide mounted one of the horses; Shadowfax was strong, but there was not enough room for a hobbit, a wizard, and a 150-pound American. Adelaide knew that she would have to ride hard in order to keep up with the king of the Meras. But as she turned, Legolas came up on her side. She looked down at him, surprised. He looked very confused and frightened, like a little boy. She resisted the urge to lean down and stroke his soft head in a comforting, matronly way. Dear Legolas. He was a horny bastard, yes, but he meant well, and she was done being angry.

"My lady," he said hesitantly. "I wish…I mean, I don't know…please do not be angry with me," he finished lamely. "I know not what I did, but…but I gather it wasn't pleasant."

"Legolas, you were drunk as a sailor. And nothing…nothing really happened. You kissed me," she added hesitatingly.

"Did I?" Oh, damn it! To have kissed her and not been able to fully enjoy that meeting of mouths! Legolas cursed himself twice, and then promised himself that the next time he kissed her, absolutely no beer would be involved. "Did you enjoy it?"

He had that cocky, self-assured grin on his face. Adelaide pulled back.

"No. I hated it. Every minute of it."

She averted her eyes.

"To Minas Tirith, then!" cried Gandalf. "Ride, Shadowfax. Show us the meaning of haste!" Both horses shot away over the plains. Merry gave a choking cry and started to run back into the city, all the way up to the highest tower. Aragorn followed him.

"Merry!"

From the tower, Merry could see Gandalf riding away with his friend, and the swirl of Adelaide's cloak. He hoped that she would take good care of his friend, and bring him word of him when she returned. Aragorn, behind him, patted his shoulder, looking out.

"There he goes again," Merry said softly. "Ever since before we were tweens, he would follow me around everywhere…and I'd always get him into trouble. But then I'd always be there to get him out of it. I'll miss him. He doesn't have anybody now."

"Gandalf will look after him," he said. "He will find his courage, Merry, do not worry. One thing I have learned about hobbits…they are irrepressible."

And Legolas had learned something about American women…they were very bad liars.


	7. Gollum is Officially PO'd

Chapter 7

Gollum is Officially PO'd

* * *

Arwen Undomiel sat upon her gray palfrey and rode with a silent host of Rivendell Elves to the Havens. It was to be her last trip in Middle Earth; her father had commanded it, and she could not disobey. Her heart was torn in two, for she knew that she was leaving behind a lover…someone whom she cared deeply about. Aragorn was ever in her mind, and now the winds of her brain tossed her thoughts back and forth furiously. One side wanted to obey her father; the other side did not want to. And ever, there were two pictures, one of Aragorn, and one of her father. Who was she to obey: her heart or her father?

As the Elves passed through a forest of fern and tree, Arwen suddenly saw a vision. A small boy clad in light garments ran past her horse and into the forest, where there suddenly formed a picture of the city of Gondor, and a figure standing upon the terrace as dawn bloomed, and looking out over the white kingdom. And as the boy came, the figure turned, and Arwen winced: it was Aragorn who took up the little boy, laughter and delight on his father's face. They spun around, and Aragorn kissed his son. Arwen felt tears coming on.

Then the young boy looked at her, and she saw that his face bore the eyes of her beloved, and his face, though young, seemed Elven-wise, and it stared at her. _You would leave this behind?_ It was asking her. _You would never see me…your son? You would leave Middle Earth and forsake the life that could be here…in me?_

Upon his breast, he bore the Evenstar.

Arwen's tears trickled down her cheeks, and she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the vision was gone, and the forest remained. She blinked. The gray eyes of the boy were hers, and Aragorn…if he could look so happy with anyone else's child…! Arwen paused for a moment. She had just seen the future.

"Lady Arwen? We cannot delay!"

Arwen's head snapped up to behold Figwit, one of her father's most trusted companions. Arwen had never really liked Figwit. He was somewhat of a brownnoser, and was far too attentive to her for her own liking. She glared at him; how dare he tell her, daughter of Elrond, what to do? She had a mind and a will of her own! Luthien Tinuviel herself had chosen her mortality, despite the fact that she'd had the most possessive father on the face of the earth! Arwen stubbornly drove the heels of her mind into the ground of her father's will, and yanked backwards. But it was her horse that she turned, and galloped back to Rivendell, ignoring Figwit's cry of protest. Let them go on to their silly gray ships, let them go away and never return…they had no mortal lover; they would never know the depth of such love! She would heed nothing, until she had had some words with her father. If it was truly love, then she would never abandon Aragorn.

Riding swiftly to Rivendell, she saw that leaves were falling. Winter was about to take her home, for the Elves were leaving, and taking the spring with them. It seemed almost dismal. But here, yes, she would confront her father.

Elrond stood with a look of surprise. "Arwen!"

"What did you see?" she asked him right away. "You have the gift of foresight. What did you see?"

"I looked into your future, and I saw death."

"But there is also life," she said. "You saw there was a child! You saw my son." Her voice was harsh, accusing.

Elrond stared at her. "But there is no hope for you here. You will die, and sooner or later, and Aragorn will too. Is that what you wish?"

"How can I be afraid of death?" Arwen said. "When there is such love in my heart as will kill all such fear?"

"Courage is easy when you are young and you have a lover while he may last. But there will come a time when he will leave you, and you shall be alone. Is this what you desire? To live until the years of your life are up? Who knows how long that will be? You will be forgotten by both men and Elves, unlike Tinuviel and Beren. Their paths were different than yours and Aragorn's."

"No!" cried Arwen. "They are the same! I cannot believe that you would not let me make this choice for myself—"

"That future is almost gone."

"But it is not lost."

"Nothing is certain."

"Some things are certain. If I leave him now, I will regret it forever. It is time."

She turned and left her father, weeping bitterly. Rebellion hadn't been so bad, and at least she had spoken her mind, but her father still did not want to see her point of view.

* * *

Frodo tossed in his sleep and once more reached out for Adelaide. This time he connected with something, but it was only Sam, who was sleeping heavily by his side. Frodo pulled in his hand and lay on his side, closing his eyes tightly and willing an image of his beloved into his brain. She was a relief from the torments of the day, whatever they were. She was the last little ray of sunshine allowed to him in that dreadful place of darkness. They had gone far that day, and now they were sleeping peacefully near a little pool of water below the mountains near Mordor. Gollum was taking them to the pass of Cirith Ungol, where, he said, the hobbits would be able to get into Mordor without trouble. Or at least that's what he said. Sam did not trust the wretched creature for a million bucks.

Frodo sighed and settled back down, closing his eyes. Almost immediately he felt soothing hands comforting him, bringing him back down into an abyss of sleep. He smelled flowers, and then…

_She came home to Bag End one day, her apron full of ripe red strawberries. "They're the first of the season," she said excitedly. "You've got to come out with me, Frodo, there's tons of them; you can literally bathe in them! I'm totally making a strawberry pie. Did I ever tell you that I won first place at the Alaska State Fair for my strawberry pie? And chocolate-dipped strawberries…oh, God, those are the best forever and ever, amen!"_

_He took her hand and helped her unload the strawberries from her apron, and then took one and popped it in his mouth. As he felt the crushing sweetness of flavor bursting in his mouth, tickling his tongue and squishing over his teeth, he watched as Adelaide did the same._

Gollum, lying on the ground, began to twitch.

"To risky…to risky…they're thieves…they stole it from us. Kill them. Kill them both! Argh!" he suddenly sprang to life with a jump, his great bulbous eyes opening as wide as dinner saucers.

"Shh! Quiet!" said Gollum. "They'll hear us!"

"But the fat one sees," whined Sneagol, crawling over to a pool of water. "Fat one sees, he knows!"

"_You have juice dribbling down your chin," he laughed, and wiped it off with a corner of her apron. Adelaide smiled wickedly, her little mind shifting into a positively scandalous gear. _

"_So do you." And she licked it off._

"What does it say, my precious, my love? Smeagol losing his nerve!"

"No! Never! Smeagol hates nasty hobbitses! Smeagol wants to see them—" Smeagol gulped as if the wording was hard for him. "—Dead!"

Gollum's reflection looked back at Smeagol with the old glint of malice in his eye. His words were soft, and comforting, but they boded no good for Sam and Frodo. "And we will, Precious. Smeagol did it once. He can do it again."

_Now he was definitely aroused. "Where are they?"_

"_Over across the Brandywine."_

"_All the way over there, lovey?"_

"_Yup! Coming?"_

"_I don't think so…not now, anyway."_

"_Oh? Whyever not?"_

_He looked at her eyes. She knew, as well as he did. He touched her hand; she was on fire. _

"_Come with me," he said quietly, and pulled her into his bedroom. He sat her down on his bed and unbuttoned his vest. Adelaide watched quietly, and then started to undo her gown._

"It's ours!" Smeagol growled. "They're thieves. OURS! They stole it from us!"

"Patience! Patience my love! First, we must lead them to HER"

Smeagol looked as happy as a schoolgirl with candy. He chortled. "We lead them to…the winding _stair_!"

"Yes, precious. The stairs."

"And then up, up, up!"

"_No, let me do that," he pushed her hands away and undid her frock, unlacing it quickly and putting her blouse, shift, bodice, everything to one side. He unbuttoned his shirt. Slipped it over his head. When he looked again, she was sitting there, prim as a school-girl, hair tumbled about her shoulders, and wearing nothing but her birthday suit. Oooho, Valar, that was tempting! Frodo cupped her face in his hands and kissed her gently. She held very still, smiling as his lips traced patterns along her cheek, chin, throat, collarbone, and between her breasts. She ran her hands through his hair, moaning._

"And then—"

"The _tunnel_!"

"And once they go in…there's no coming out!" Gollum looked more evil than ever as he gazed outwards. "She's always hungry. She always needs to feed. All she gets is nasty orcses."

"And they doesn't taste very nice, does they, precious?"

"No, my love. Not very nice at all. She lusts for sweeter meat, hobbit meat. And when she throws away the bones and empty garments, we shall find it."

"And take it for MEEEEEE!"

_Her hands slipped to his pants._

"_Stop it," he said. _

"_It's your fault," she panted._

"_Why do YOU always get to undo me?"_

"_I've already undone you, you big lover-boy. Look at that big guy; he's practically turning purple with all the swelling." She touched his cock, taking it into her hands and working it. Her eyes twinkled, and she leaned down, her hot, moist, berry-stained mouth covering the thick head and shaft, working him into pieces. He was wild with ecstasy already. Adelaide, for having little experience, certainly had a very vivid imagination! _

"_It's all those 25-cent romance novels," she would later sigh. "I wasn't ever supposed to go to that corner of the library…but one day I did, and I never got caught, and I read such juicy details I'll remember them 'til my dying day. And I like to think that it's natural, that desire to be intimately naughty. We girls can't help ourselves sometimes._

_That was damned fine with him. _

"For US," Gollum corrected Smeagol.

"Yes…yes, of course, I…we meant for us. Gollum! Gollum!" Smeagol choked out again, as if trying to regain his old, nasty self.

_Soon he had her against the pillows of his bed…his body between her legs, pumping and throbbing. Her body, arched and wet with sweat. He panted her name._

"The precious will be ours," said Gollum, picking up a rock and dropping it into the pool of water. "Once the hobbitses are dead! Once they're dead!"

_And when he had finished, they lay there entwined. She stroked his curls. He played idly with a loose strand of hair, smiling stupidly, languidly enjoying the heat of their bodies._

_Love._

_It was a wonderful thing._

"_So when are you going to come strawberry-picking with me?" she asked._

All at once, Frodo heard screams. Awaking violently, he looked up to see Sam attacking Gollum. Sam seemed to have lost his head for coolness!

Gollum wailed and tried to hide, but it was apparent that he was weak, for he was not moving as fast as he might. Sam did not seem to hear Frodo, and came on at Gollum again. Gollum screamed, and Frodo cried out, clutching at his friend and crying out to him.

"No Sam! Leave him alone! Sam! Sam, we're lost!"

"I heard it from his own mouth! He means to murder us!"

"Never!" cried Gollum. "Smeagol wouldn't hurt a fly! He's a hobbit, a nasty, fat hobbit, who makes up lies!"

"Call me a liar! You're a liar! You miserable maggot! I'll stove your head in!" Sam raged. Frodo caught at him.

"Sam!"

Sam aimed another punch at Gollum, who screamed and tried to hide behind a tree.

"Masster! Ahhh!"

Frodo grabbed onto Sam and threw him back with all the force he could muster. "No, Sam! I'm not sending him away! We can't do this by ourselves, Sam, not without a guide!"

"I don't care! I can't do it, Mr. Frodo. I won't wait around for him to kill us!"

Gollum wailed.

Sam turned to Frodo. "You don't see it, do you?" he asked. "He's a villain!"

Gollum wailed again. He was a good actor, if nothing more.

Frodo looked at the both of them helplessly. It was a terrible situation for him to be in, but he did not know how to please the both of them, or whom to trust.

"Sam," he said quietly. "I need you on my side."

"I'm on your side, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, holding back his tears. Frodo looked at him gently.

"I know, Sam. I know. Trust me." To Gollum, he held out his hand. "Come, Smeagol."

Sam stared as the thin, stinking creature took Frodo's hand like a frightened child and started to hobble off. But glancing back at Sam he gave a cruel, evil look.

Sam bit back his words.

* * *

In only a few hours more, Gandalf, Pippin, and Adelaide broke into sunlight, and began racing across a large plain. Adelaide caught her breath. On the far reaches of these plains, near the mountainside, was a white city, built almost like a pyramid, its tall towers reaching for the clouds. Adelaide had never seen such a beautiful, majestic city before in her life.

Well, Rome, maybe. Ancient Italian architecture was absolutely marvelous.

"Behold!" cried Gandalf. "Minas Tirith of Gondor. Here dwells the Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor."

"Is he a king?" asked Pippin, as they rode—literally—into the city and went abroad upon the white streets. All around them, Minas Tirith seemed to be like any other great city, with towers, markets, and homes. Adelaide was reminded of Edoras, only Minas Tirith was better-looking, and considerably cleaner.

"No," said Gandalf. "He is only a Steward, a caretaker." They reined in their horses at the top of a beautiful terrace and walked on across the grounds. Here there was a beautiful lawn with walkways, and in the middle of this there was a tree. As Gandalf helped Adelaide down from her horse, Pippin glanced about, and is eyes fell upon the tree. He gasped and pointed at it.

"Gandalf…Gandalf, that's my tree! That's the tree I saw!"

"Yes, I know," said Gandalf. "It only will bloom when the true king comes into his own. Remember, Denethor is no king. But be wary, Pippin," he said as they came to the doors. "Denethor is Boromir's father. It would be unwise to speak to him of his son. And do not mention the name of Aragorn. He is slightly touchy on the matter of Gondor's throne. And whatever you do, say nothing about Frodo and Sam." Pippin nodded, but as they started in, Gandalf paused… and changed his mind. "In fact, it's best you didn't speak at all, Peregrin Took," he said.

"What about me?" asked Adelaide. "What am I to do, Gandalf? Boromir once said that his father hated me. What am I going to do when I meet his dad?"

"Don't you worry," said Gandalf. "Even if I fail to take care of you, you're a big girl, and can manage fine on your own."

"Right," said Adelaide. She patted her head. "I don't look like trash, do I?"

"You look fine," said Gandalf impatiently. "Now get in, Adelaide Edessa, and have an eye on Pippin."

Following Gandalf and Pippin, Adelaide pushed forward into the great hall of Minas Tirith. The beautiful white hall was accented by high, black pillars of marble that stretched towards a cathedral-domed ceiling. Statues of former kings and leaders of Gondor stood between the pillars, looking for all the world like Grecian sculptures of historical magnitude. Few articles of furniture littered the room, save for a stone throne, upon which was seated a bowed figure. As they approached, Adelaide saw that the figure had long gray hair, and he was dressed in black. Most unusual around a place like Gondor; she had expected Denethor to be a little more festive in his choice of clothing. But then, who knew? In the book, Denethor had been a grouchy old sourpuss. Maybe this was the case here. In any case, he looked overheated. And it did not aid his looks any, that's for sure.

"Hail, Steward of Gondor!" said Gandalf, bowing his head politely. "Dark are the hours, but I come to give aid and counsel."

Denethor raised his head slowly, and Adelaide could see that he had been weeping. His face was both angry and sad. There was only one thing that could make Denethor be that way—

"Perhaps," he said dully, but with a touch of fire. "You have come to explain this." And he held up something he had been holding in his lap. Gandalf stared. Adelaide and Pippin stared. It was Boromir's horn, cloven completely in two.

_That's one warning Gandalf gave that's basically useless._

"Perhaps you've come to tell me why my son is dead," said Denethor. Pippin stared at the horn, memories flooding back. He had seen Boromir die, but even before this, he had known the man to be good and kind, even if he HAD wanted the Ring. That alone had driven him out of his mind, but he had rushed to save the hobbits from death. Pippin felt a burst of anger flare in him, and he wanted to shout out everything that had happened. Only Gandalf's hand on his shoulder prevented him from doing anything. But the look on Denethor's face was maddening. He had to do something…

"He died defending us," he said, striding forward. "My kinsman and I. He fell with many arrows in him." Pippin suddenly knelt. "I offer you my service, lord, little as it may seem," he said. Denethor looked down upon the hobbit with interest and amusement.

"My first command to you is this: tell me how you escaped the battle unharmed, while my son did not."

"Even one man may be slain by one arrow," Pippin said softly. "And Boromir was pierced by many."

Denethor's face twisted in an expression of real pain as he envisioned his son full of arrows like a hedgehog, dying in an unknown land, far from home, and buried who-knew-where without even a message of guess-what-your-son-has-died-let's-hold-a-funeral. Gandalf saw this look of fatherly affection and pain, and he strode forward, nudging Pippin with his staff.

"Get up, you fool of a Took!" he cried. To Denethor, he said, "My lord, there will be a time to mourn for Boromir, but it is not now. The foes of Mordor are practically at your doorstep. I have come to urge you to look to Rohan for help. Light the beacons, Lord Denethor, and summon King Theoden! You will need aid."

Denethor looked upon him, hatred in his eyes. "You think you are wise, Mithrandir, yet for all your subtleties, you have not wisdom. Do you think that the eyes of the White Tower are blind? I have seen more than you know. With your left hand you would use me as a shield against Mordor, and with your right you would seek to supplant me. I know who rides with Theoden of Rohan. Oh yes, word has reached my ears of this…Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and I tell you now, I will not bow to this Ranger of the North, the last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship!"

Adelaide's mouth dropped. Well, if this was the way it was going to be, and if Pippin could swear service so boldly, she could find a few things to say to such a mean old grouch!

"You've never even met Aragorn," she said hotly. "You can't say such things about him when you've never met him. Aragorn and Boromir were good friends, and your son even recognized him as the King."

Denethor looked over sharply at her, and Adelaide cringed slightly. This was a bad beginning, to put the Steward of Gondor in his place with a little tongue-lashing, and to bring in Boromir…that was salt in an open wound.

"Who is this?" Denethor demanded. Adelaide remembered what Eowyn had said, and she dropped the necessary curtsey.

"My name is Adelaide. I've come for a change in scenery. Been sticking around hobbits and horses for too long."

Denethor did not take his eyes off her. Adelaide did not like his stare. Boromir had been right—his dear ol' dad was not particularly fond of her. But now there was an uncomfortable silence that even Gandalf was unsure how to break. Finally, Denethor cleared his throat.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-three. Why?"

"The messengers of Rohan led us to believe that you were older, much older," said Denethor. "A prophetess, they say, must have the wrinkles to match her wisdom, though you were not portrayed as a hag, but rather as the witch who dwells in Lothlorien. Your face may hide long life."

It took Adelaide a minute to figure out that he was talking about Galadriel. But before she could protest, the inquisition continued.

"Did you know Boromir well?"

"Of course I did. We were good friends. He was always yakking about Gondor. Wanted to take me in for a visit, to see you here in Minas Tirith. We got along fine." She didn't tell him that Boromir, too, had his horny moments, and had been a genuine pest at times, though Adelaide could also recall some fonder moments. This was not the time to highlight Boromir's faults.

Denethor stood. "You seem to know much of my son," he said coldly. "And since you were his friend, at least, I cannot grudge you a welcome. For his sake, I will provide you with a room, and food, and whatever else you may need. But know this also, prophetess…I do not trust you. I have never trusted you, and now that I see you in person, I trust you even less. Foul play may hide behind a lovely face."

"I think I'll take that as a compliment and pretend you didn't just insult me."

Denethor turned to Gandalf. "I will not light the beacons," he said flatly, hatred crossing his features again. "I will not ask Rohan for aid, and I will not accept help from this Aragorn."

"Authority is not given for you to deny the coming of the King," said Gandalf, his features hardening. "Steward!"

Denethor leaped to his feet, fire in his eyes, like an angry bull.

"Rule of Gondor is _mine_, and no others'!"

With that, he sat down heavily again.

Gandalf turned, and he, Pippin, and Adelaide left Denethor to wallow in his self-pity and grief for his son. Poor Boromir indeed.

"All has turned to vain ambition!' Gandalf growled, as they stalked out of the room. "He would use even his grief as a cloak! A thousand years, this city has stood. Now, at the whim of a madman, it might fall! The White Tree of the King will never bloom again."

"That's being negative," Adelaide observed. "The guards seem to think differently."

"Why are they guarding it?" Pippin asked.

"They guard it because they have hope! Hope that one day it will flower; the king will come, and this city will be as it once was. It fell into decay, long ago. The old wisdom borne out of the west was forsaken. Kings made tombs more splendid than the houses of the living; they counted the names of their descent more dear than those of their own sons. Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry, or else climbed towers asking questions of the stars."

"Stars can't talk," objected Adelaide.

"I mean they tried to read them, Adelaide. They tried to predict the future by their times and numbers."

"I hated astronomy, come to think of it, although I always was pretty good at drawing the celestial sphere. Ptolemy, though, never made much sense. So then what happened?"

"The people of Gondor fell into ruin. The line of kings failed. The White Tree withered. The rule of Gondor was given over to lesser men."

"Like Denethor back in there?" Adelaide asked. "He's a lot less than lesser, Gandalf, if you judge a man by his smile. Denethor doesn't even have one."

They were looking out over the parapet of Gondor, at the mountains in the east. Pippin stared at them, suddenly feeling chilly.

"Mordor," he said.

"Yes, there is lies," Gandalf said. "This city has dwelt ever in the sight of its shadow."

"A storm is coming," Pippin further observed, noting the dark clouds that were covering the sky from the East, and making their way slowly towards the realm of Gondor. Gandalf frowned.

"This is not the weather of the world," he said. "This is a device of Sauron's making. A dark cloud he sends ahead of his hosts. The orcs of Mordor have no love for daylight. So he covers the face of the sun to ease their passage along the road to war. When the shadow reaches the city…it will begin."

Pippin took a deep breath. "Well…Minas Tirith." He quickly looked up at Gandalf. "Very impressive! So where are we off to next?"

"I want to go to SeaWorld," Adelaide put in quickly. Gandalf frowned at both of them.

"It's too late for that, you two! There's no leaving this city. Help must come to us now." He looked back over to Mordor. Frodo and Sam were in his thoughts. "Rohan must indeed be signaled for aid. Gondor cannot stand alone."

* * *

**Yay! So, what does everyone think, so far? BTW, thanks everyone for the lovely reviews! Every time I get an e-mail that says "Author Alert," "Story Alert," "Review Alert" or otherwise, that just absolutely makes my day. **


	8. Mooning Before the Plunge

Chapter 8

Mooning Before the Plunge

**No, the chapter does not refer to "mooning" in the sense of bare butts. Everyone's mooning over the people they love, that's all.**

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* * *

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Adelaide was given a small room to herself, and fortunately it was close to Gandalf and Pippin's quarters. She'd be able to see them when she could afford the time.

Sighing, she sat down onto her little bed and looked around. What a measly, little, inhospitable room. The walls were bare without any sort of decoration, and there was only a small bed with a pillow, a chair and desk, and a large, ugly wardrobe. Adelaide shivered. How was a girl supposed to get on in life with something as dumb as this? Isenguard had better living facilities. The guard who led her in wrung his mailed hands nervously.

"It will get better, my lady, have no fear," he said to her, bowing. "For now, this is what the lord Denethor commands. No doubt he will warm up to you later, and move your room to somewhere more agreeable—"

"No!" cried Adelaide. She did not want to be moved away from Gandalf or Pippin. "No…please, this is fine. I'm good. I'd rather stick around the wizard."

The guard stared at her for some time, and then bowed. "Beregond I am called," he said. "I am merely a plain soldier, and nothing important, my lady, but tell me…is it true that you have thrown the lord Theoden's nephew, lord Eomer, in a wrestling match?"

Adelaide looked up, startled, and then laughed. "Good lord, you guys have been hearing some pretty fantastic rumors. First off, you heard wrong; his sister Eowyn tumbled him when they were little. Secondly, I don't wrestle. I arm-wrestle, though, and I've never beaten him, although I beat his sister once, and never again. But…but I have been able to move things with my mind," she said, hesitatingly. "Maybe that's what you've heard."

Beregond sat down. "Indeed! Those who have met you and spoke of you said wonderful things, and they did say you had a power of the mind which was unlike any other known to man. This is truly worthy of consideration, maid! Know you how to harness this power and use it for your own means?"

"Uh…that would be a no. In fact, I can't even harness it…at the moment, it's pretty much out of hand. I can't control it at all."

Beregond looked a little disappointed. "But have you not practiced?" he ventured. "Indeed, I should think that if one has a talent, they should practice for use, just as a man must practice with his bow before shooting the arrow."

Adelaide had been listening dully to his words, but now she perked up and stared at him. "Practice?"

"Of course. Have you ever tried?"

"No, come to think of it," Adelaide brightened considerably. "I haven't. Do you really think it would work?"

"By all the Valar, lady, it is for you to find out. But come, tell me more about yourself. Can you truly sing like a nightingale?"

"If you wish, I can do something for you this minute."

"Oh, indeed, I should like to hear it…but the lord Denethor might so be angry with me…he thinks you are an enchantress, you see. You enchanted his son."

"I did nothing of the kind," said Adelaide angrily. "I don't know how to enchant anyone. Why would I even want to? Seems a waste of time to me, meddling with other people like that."

"Your pardon, lady! Forgive me. I only repeat what others have said. I myself care not for lord Denethor's mad accusations. You seem innocent enough."

"Look, Beregond, my name is Adelaide. You can call me Adelaide. Boromir always did."

"Alas for Boromir! Were you close to him, la—Adelaide?"

"Well, we were friends, if that's what you mean. He had his faulty moments, but he was a good man, and died honorably."

"It is true," said Beregond. "Boromir was a valiant man, Adelaide. If only you had seen him here, at home with his people! You would have thought differently of him. He did not want to go to Rivendell. He did not favor Elves highly, nor anyone who seemed to be against Gondor. He was ever for his city. Rash was Boromir, often, although he always tried to do his father's will. I wish, however, that Faramir had gone. We needed the leadership of Boromir here, though Faramir was never one to shirk his duty either, and is greatly beloved here in the city. Yet he would have done better, perhaps, to go to Rivendell."

"Who's Faramir?" Adelaide feigned ignorance.

"What? You, a prophetess, to not know the lord Faramir, brother of Boromir, and youngest son of the lord Denethor?" teased Beregond. "He is tall, fair of face, and considerably more careful than Boromir, although he fights well, and has done much for Gondor. It is his father who gives him no credit."

"Well, that's mean," said Adelaide. "Where is Faramir, anyway?"

"Away defending Osgiliath, Adelaide. I know not when he will return, but I will welcome that day. I have heard that it is nearly overrun with orcs. If Faramir wins the battle, and all will be well, we will have scored a point against Mordor. It is well!" Beregond shuddered. "But tell me, Adelaide, what has been your part in this adventure? I would know more about you, for if you were a friend of Boromir's, then surely you will be a friend to others of Gondor."

So Adelaide sat with Beregond and related to him all her adventures, from the time she landed in Middle Earth to the time of reaching Gondor. Beregond listened eagerly, and drank in her every word, but as dusk fell, he finally moved up and bade her good-night.

"I will wait on you in the morning," he added. "It has been a delightful speech between us, Adelaide. I know not when I have met a fairer, more interesting young lady, save for my wife. Perhaps you two shall meet someday!"

"Thanks," said Adelaide, and then, as Beregond left, she meditated on what he had previously said. Practice imagination? Huh, that wasn't too hard, although she'd never thought about it before. Imagination was natural, although there were times when it came with difficulty. It seemed odd, and very different than practicing something like singing or a sport, or something like that. She grinned to herself and concentrated upon a small stool_. C'mon, get up_, she thought in her head.

_Wait. You're doing it wrong. Imagine the stool is floating. Imagine yourself lifting it up. Try that._

Verbalizing the stool in her mind, she focused on it and turned her mind down the road of imagination. The stool was floating in her mind's eye…and then, as she focused her gaze to the real world again, she found that the stool was hovering, about a foot off the ground in front of her. She clapped her hands in delight. Wow, wait until she could show Gandalf! Then she sobered. One little victory wasn't enough. Could she levitate people? The bed? Heck, could she do more than levitate? She could send an orc spinning to the ground! She had trashed Isenguard with a whirlwind of furniture! Why could she not try something more? And could she hold back thoughts? Could she put up a mental block in her mind? Could she turn the thoughts of others away from her own? Ideas excitedly raced through her head; at the same time she lowered the stool carefully and decided to visit Gandalf to tell him the good news. Her talent could he harnessed; it could be controlled! And that's what chiefly mattered to her—dominant control over her talent. It was never again to take control of her.

She hurriedly exited her quarters and wandered on over to Gandalf and Pippin's. Pippin was gazing over his new outfit of blue and silver, while Gandalf looked out over the terrace.

"So, I imagine this is just a ceremonial position. I mean, they don't actually expect me to do any fighting…do they?" asked Pippin. Gandalf, who was smoking that ridiculous pipe of his, turned to give him a look.

"You're in the service of the Steward now. You're going to have to do as you're told, Peregrin Took, Guard of the Citadel."

Adelaide grinned at them both.

"Hey, you guys have better quarters than I do—no fair."

Gandalf turned. "I should think that we would have better quarters…Adelaide, your nerve today was shameful."

"MY nerve? How about saying that to Denethor? He's older than I am, and he's got the manners of a bear!"

"And you've got all the sauce of an impertinent tween—remember that, you are very young even by man's standards, and for you to sit there and judge your elders was extremely rude."

Adelaide sighed. "I'm sorry," she said wearily, rubbing at her forehead. "I don't like being reminded of my age. In America, I can legally drink, I can legally drive, I can legally vote, and I can legally join a strip club if I wanted to. I'm a legal adult. Middle Earth places an emphasis on the maturity level, not the 'coming of age' stuff. I forget about that, often."

"Oh? How can you forget it? You're dating a fifty-year-old hobbit."

Adelaide laughed. "I know! But Frodo has his kid-ish moments, too. I like to think we're all kids, at heart." She sobered. "But I also like to think I've grown in many ways."

"That you most certainly have. Indeed, I've seen such a change since your imprisonment at Isenguard that I wonder whether Sauruman put a spell over you. But there are other forces at work, I daresay. You still have much to learn. But I cannot say I am not proud of you. You have been a credit to the Fellowship, even if you are rather impulsive at times. Frodo should be so lucky!"

Adelaide sighed.

"I wish I could have gone with him."

"You could not," said Gandalf gently. "And I appreciate how you understood this. Although far apart, you and he are still thinking of each other. It is well."

"I wonder where he is."

Pippin moved over beside her at the terrace and put his chin on his arms. All three of them stared out at the mountains of Mordor. Pippin shivered.

"There's no stars," he said quietly. "Is it time?" He looked up expectantly at Gandalf, and the wizard sighed.

"Yes. Our Enemy is ready. His full strength gathered. Not only orcs, but men as well, legions of Haradred from the South. Men in corsairs from the coast, all who answer Mordor's call. This will be the end of Gondor as we know it. Here the hammer-stroke will fall hardest. If the river is taken, and the garrison of Osgiliath falls, the last defense of this city will be gone."

"It's so quiet," he whispered.

"It's the deep breath before the plunge," said Gandalf quietly.

"I don't want to be in a battle," said Pippin. "But waiting on the edge of one I can't escape is even worse."

"You and me, both, Pippin," said Adelaide. "We're in the same pot of stew together. This'll be the first battle I'm in. I mean a real wartime battle. The Hornburg was nothing; I didn't do anything. But this time I'll be in battle array, riding a horse, and swinging a sword—my own sword."

"And I hope you get to," said Gandalf. "You might have need of the skills your friend Eowyn taught you. But for my sake, I would have you stay safe, perhaps in the crypts below Minas Tirith. There is no chance of letting you leave the city, but I would not let you get involved in battle. However, knowing you, I know I probably shan't get my wish."

Adelaide chuckled. "I'll promise to stay as safe as I can. Believe me, I'm scared shitless right now. But…but I know—"

"Don't tell me; I don't want to know."

"Oh, she just knows that we have you on our side," Pippin said cheerfully. "We've got the White Wizard. That's got to count for something."

Adelaide grinned, and then noticed that Gandalf didn't look very pleased with the compliment. He looked old now, withered and bent, as if the mre suggestion of his importance weighed him down like sacks of flour.

"Gandalf?"

The wizard roused himself, and shuddered slightly. "Sauron has yet to reveal his deadliest servant," he said sadly. "The one who will lead the armies in war. The one they say no living man can kill. The Witch-King of Agmon." He turned to Pippin and Adelaide. "You've met him before," he said quietly. "He stabbed Frodo on Weathertop."

Memories, unhappy and deadly, were revived.

"He is the Lord of the Nazgul," Gandalf continued. "The greatest of the Nine. Minas Morgul is his lair."

"I don't like the sound of that," Adelaide stammered. "And Frodo and Sam are taking—" she stopped and shut herself up. There was no sense in revealing half the book at the moment, and so close to Mordor, too! She shivered, and then gave Gandalf a weak smile, trying to change the subject. "Speaking of which, Gandalf, I think you should know that my talent can be controlled."

"Can it, now!"

"Yup. I just got done moving a stool all by myself, and in a perfectly calm mood. So it can be done! All I need to do is practice."

"Practice away, then, maiden, for your talent will yet be needed. I sense it has a deeper role to play than you might have ever imagined."

Adelaide nodded. She couldn't have possibly expected a high-five. Then she stared out at the mountains. "Frodo," she murmured. "_He's_ not going into battle. Yet I wish he were here with me. Or that I were with him."

"He has Sam," said Gandalf. Pippin hugged onto Adelaide.

"Is there any hope, Gandalf? For Frodo and Sam?"

Gandalf looked over at Adelaide, but she was not hearing them; her heart and mind were concentrated totally on the mountains. Far, far away, she could see the Eye of Sauron, flaming and screaming, cutting off her vision from Frodo. The heat sweated in her mind, caused her to feel the pain that Frodo felt. Akin in so many ways, she now felt what he was feeling…and there was a loss of hope and life. Her mind felt blank; and in her brain she could hear Sauron. He wanted the Ring, yes, but he wanted her as well; she had vital information. And now she was as close to Sauron as she wanted to get. Mordor was not far away from the city of Minas Tirith. So she said nothing. Did nothing. All she could do was stare, and pull her arm about Pippin even tighter. Gandalf, sensing this, shook his head.

"There never was much hope," he said softly. "Only a fool's hope."

Adelaide's eyes watered.

"I miss him."

* * *

Frodo and Sam walked amid the dark rushes of night, their way guided only by the soft hissings and paddings of Gollum, who scampered on ahead of them and led them silently along the mountainous roads and pathways. At last, he beckoned them on, and they huddled in a small ditch, before peeping over the side. Frodo beheld a long, smooth stone pathway that led to a great castle, illuminated from the inside with a weird green light. Forbidding pillars with horned beast's heads adorned the walkway, and great chains made for a massive bridge that spanned the yawning gulf between the road and the castle. Gollum gave Sam a snide, impatient look.

"Minas Morgul," he said, proud of his knowledge. "Not a nice place, oh no, not nice at all. Full of…enemies. Look! The stairs!"

On a small plot of land to the side of the road, about a yard or so off, there was the tall rocky side of a high black mountain, and cut into the side were abominably steep steps, leading up. Frodo felt dizzy just looking at it, and Sam blanched.

_Oh-ho, no thanks…I choose life. I think I'll just stay on the ground until he's safe and sound at the top. Meanwhile, I'll see whether or not we can get the Board of General Transportation to put an elevator here._

Gollum beckoned to the hobbits, and leaped upon the stairs with the agility of a spider. Sam groaned, and followed, expecting his master to follow behind him. But Frodo paused at the stair, and turned to the castle. Something invisible, like an intoxicating lure, was calling to him, reaching for him, and bringing him closer. He felt that he must go to the castle…he must…something or someone wanted him…he had to go.

"Mr. Frodo!" called Sam wildly, and hopped off the third step to the ground, scrambling over to his master, who was dazedly stumbling towards the castle.

"What's he doing?" Gollum screamed in horror. "What's the hobbit doing?"

"It's calling me," Frodo explained in a dazed manner, as if he were drunk. "I can't…they want me."

Sam managed to pull his master back to the stairs with the help of Gollum, who frantically pulled and tugged as well. As they dropped into the ditch, a sudden earthquake hit the land, and the vibrations threw them to the ground. Sam pushed his master out of sight, and hid himself well. The next minute, the vibrations rocked away, and a brilliant pillar of green fire shot into the sky like a geyser's wail, permeating the black sky, and twisting it into different shades of pale green and gray. From far away in Gondor, Gandalf and Pippin witnessed the pillar, seeing it rise to the sky and splitting the heavens. Gandalf put an arm around Pippin, holding him close for comfort.

A great winged beast, such as the one that had attacked Frodo at Osgiliath, rose into the sky, his black, leathery wings fully healed from wounds long-suffered, his jaws salavering with the memory of earlier victims. Upon his back rode the Witch-King, a horned crown upon his head and covering his face like a visor. He gripped the reins fiercely, and turned his head downwards. And then he gave a massive screech, such as the one he had used upon Weathertop—like nails on a chalkboard.

Frodo heard that screech and cried out in pain, gripping his shoulder. But his injury lasted but a minute, for the screech ended, and the beast roared. The great gates of Minas Morgul opened, and a wicked host of black orcs marched forward, befit with their cruel livery and armed with all manner of intimidating and evil weapons. Frodo, Sam, and Gollum watched as they passed, and then Gollum shook them by the sleeves.

"Come, sillies!" he insisted. "Climb! Up we go, yes, up, up, up!"

Painfully, bit by bit, the hobbits began their long ascent, leaving the orcs far behind.

* * *

Later, as Adelaide tucked Pippin into bed, the young hobbit caught her hand and brought it gently to his lips.

"I'm glad you're here, Adelaide," he said softly. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"And personally, I don't know what I'd do without my hobbit-boy."

"Oh, Adelaide, I imagine you'd be fine without us—"

"Orange-Pip! Knock it off! You know I'd miss any one of my hobbits like I miss my home! Dude, if I didn't have my hobbits around me, I'd be having issues!"

Pippin laughed. "Oh Adelaide. You're so funny."

"Hardy-har-har. The world may revolve around the sun, but my hobbits revolve around me."

"And Frodo owns your heart." Pippin sighed. "I wish it could have been me. You've no idea how I pined for you those two weeks after you dumped me and started dating other hobbits. Merry was even worse. He was jealous for a whole month."

"I never knew," Adelaide said softly. "I never knew just how much I meant to you…and to Merry, and Adelard, and all the others. Not until I started dating Frodo, and realized that my heart really does belong in the Shire, with its people. But then…then there was the Fellowship, and the Elves, and the people in Rohan…and I started learning that I mean something to others, just as much as everyone here means a lot to me. I can't explain it. But there'd be a huge hole in my heart, if I ever left."

"Do you still want to go home?"

"No. Not anymore. I want to do what I can here. The whole idea of going through all this is to get home as soon as possible…but I am so darned attached to Frodo that even considering going home is impossible. Middle Earth has put a tug on my heart that will not let go. It's all Tolkien's fault." She laughed a little. "Oh, Pippin, if only you could understand…"

He smiled at her.

"I do, Addy. I think I do."

* * *

Arwen approached the statue of the Elven woman, her arms outstretched. They held a great tray, on which was placed gray silk, and upon that silk were the shards of Narsil, sword of Elendil. She looked long at it, before words came into her head.

"From the ashes, a fire shall be woken…a light from the shadows shall spring… renewed shall be the blade that was broken…the crownless again shall be king."

Arwen's heart pounded.

_If you do not do this, you will regret it for the rest of your life._

Elrond entered the room.

_You are old enough to tell him of your feelings._

"Arwen?"

_You have to make this choice._

"Ada…my lord…"

_Arwen Undomiel, you must remember Aragorn, son of Arathorn. O mor henion i dhu…ely siriar, el sila. Tiro el eria e mor…Aragorn anirion Undomiel…_

"Reforge the sword, Ada!"

_He loves you, Arwen._

Elrond looked upon his daughter. "No," he replied softly, and left. Arwen stared after him, and then fell upon a bench, a book in her hands. She tried reading, but her father's words echoed like empty nothingness in her head. Her hands felt very cold, and her heart was beating slower. The book slid from her hands. In another moment, Elrond came and picked it up. Then he took her hands.

"Your hands are cold!" he gasped, and looked into her eyes. "The life of the Eldar is leaving you!"

Arwen looked back into his eyes…so haunted, so desperate to save her…but she was now dying, and they both knew it.

"This was my choice. Ada, whether by your will or not, there is no ship now that can bear me hence."

Elrond looked at his daughter. Thoughts swam in his mind, but now there was only one thing that he knew had to be done.

He gave orders immediately for Narsil to be reforged. In the heated gloom of the forest, the Elven Smiths worked their skill and cunning upon the blade, in order to make it deadlier and better than it had been before. Sparks flew as their hammers beat and hammered, pounding the very life and strength back into the sword. In the heat and toil of the brow, the sword glowed with a fierce light, as if all this had meant to be. But even more so. For as the sword was renewed, Arwen's life began to slowly fade away. Elrond turned back to Arwen.

"She does know something," he murmured to himself, but Arwen did not hear him. Her face was draining of its color.

* * *

In the land of Rohan, as others slept soundly, the Elf of Mirkwood tossed and turned before finally rising in agitation and looking out of the window at the stars and moon. He couldn't get over the fact that he was CERTAIN that Adelaide was in love with him, but she was in Minas Tirith now, in Gondor, and would he ever see her again? Damn that beer, it had thoroughly messed up his chances with the girl! He could remember the way she looked at him, astride her horse in the stables, wearing such an attractive gown, the scent of her freshly-bathed skin like an intoxicating, sweet poison to numb him to everything but her.

It did not take long for him to ever recall her form, but often her memory came to him in strange forms; sometimes she seemed to be on fire, another time she was faceless and walked only with a white sheet about her body. One time she had been a laughing fairy, and another he barely recognized her because she was like a hobbit. He always wanted to see her as she was, but that seemed to be so rare. And if it ever came to him, he held onto it for dear life. He savored each characteristic she had: that dazzling smile, the wine-red lips, the laughing blue eyes that turned into mystical pools of darkness at twilight, the white skin that never seemed to fade, and that body—so curved and beautiful. But he loved her heart—alive and warm.

He suddenly realized that he was warm all over just from her memory. Funny how an image could do that.

Sighing, he tried not to think of her too much. After all, there was the business of war to think about. They might win it, if only Frodo could throw that dumb Ring into the fire. Legolas gritted his teeth. No, he must not think of Frodo, either! Adelaide only now rejected him because she was tied to the hobbit. The Elf bit his lip until it bled. The hobbit. The one he had sworn an oath to protect. Never had he wanted to kill another creature so much in all his life.

_She should have come to Mirkwood_, he thought, upset. _When she landed here, she should not have landed near Lothlorien, but Mirkwood…we would have been so happy, if only she hadn't set eyes on that hobbit!_ Legolas felt tears running down his cheeks. _And now I shall probably never see her again, else it be in battle, and may the Valar help me if I find her dead._

There was a noise at his side, and he looked down. Gimli stared up at him.

"Lad, you should be getting some sleep. It isn't healthy for you to be up like this, moping over that girl."

"I am not moping."

"Oh no? Then why are you holding a piece of her gown over your heart and looking out with sick eyes at the moon? Lad, get some rest and stop thinking about her. She's fine."

"You don't understand, my friend…" Legolas paused. "Look at me, Gimli; what am I?"

"You're an Elf. And a bloody love-sick Elf if I may add that. And I am tired. Get to bed."

"I cannot help it, Gimli," said the Elf softly. "If only you knew how close I felt we were…"

"I don't know, and I don't WANT to know. If you kissed her, it's because you were drunk, if you remember any of that. You were completely sloshed, lad. And if you've run the girl away from you, you've no one to blame but yourself."

"But what if she is hurt in this battle? I must let her know how I feel!"

"You've been dropping hints ever since you met her," Gimli said dryly. "She's perfectly aware of how you feel."

"But she loves me, Gimli! And she's tied to that damned hobbit."

"That 'damned hobbit' is our Ringbearer, laddie, and you'd best not say such revolting things; it could bring bad luck. Besides, Adelaide isn't tied. She's free to make her own decisions. She's not married. She chooses to stay with Frodo because that's whom she really loves. You're only getting hits in because you're handsome, attentive, and pulling on loose strings. Otherwise, she would still be giving you a cold shoulder, I'm certain of it. _Comprende_?"

"She's been teaching you Spanish?"

"That's not the subject matter!" Gimli turned beet red.

Legolas was silent. "Do you suppose I made her ill?"

Gimli pulled the covers over his nose. "Ill? What makes you think—oh, the way she acted in the morning. Good question, lad. Adelaide doesn't sulk, no matter how bad the situation is. She would have bitten heads off that morning. No, it was probably something else."

Legolas looked out again at the stars. "What was it?" he asked, but there was no reply. Gimli was sound asleep.


	9. Distractions, Distractions!

Chapter 9

Distractions, Distractions!

* * *

Adelaide awoke at the first sight of dawn; her hair a mess and her whole body shaking in a cold sweat. She had dreamed of Legolas that night, and also of Frodo, and the dream had been hellish. She felt tired. And her head still ached like Charles Dickens. Getting up, she checked herself in the mirror, and was relieved to see that there were no signs of illness. She felt much better in comparison to several days ago!

The door swung open, and some servants came in bearing towels, soap, hot water, a bucket, a gown, and slippers. Adelaide leapt back into bed and covered herself. Blast it all, the nightgown wasn't all that modest! But the men were like dumb animals. They said nothing, but put all the things down upon the desk and floor, bowed to her, and waited. Adelaide smiled shakily.

"Uh, thanks, guys, that's…that's really sweet of you…uh—" she bowed her head quickly. The men bowed again, and then left, single file. Adelaide's mouth dropped. "Wow. What room service. Doubtless Gandalf and Pippin are getting better." But at that moment, the door swung open again, and the face of Beregond, a bit merrier than usual, appeared, beaming.

"Good-morning, my lady Adelaide!" he cried. "It is a lovely morning!"

"Great. I'm happy for it. May I ask what the hell all those men came in here for just a few moments ago?"

"Well, surely you can see that they have brought you water for bathing and a gown for clothing!" chuckled the guard. "Come, hurry and attire yourself, for the Lord Denethor wishes for you and your friends to dine with him this morning."

"Oh-ohhh. I see. Uh…any specific time?" But Beregond had gone.

Adelaide sighed and pulled herself out of the bed that had thankfully kept her weight up all night long. She was stiff, for she had been sure that tossing and turning would only break the small bed. Painfully, she walked over to the little bucket the men had left, and peeped inside. The water was freezing cold, and the bucket was small. Adelaide kept losing the soap. Oath after oath followed as she tried to bathe herself, and when she slipped the dress on, she was in a terrible mood. The gown was a deep, velvet green, with black designs around the hem, and a silver she was finally ready, having brushed out her long hair and put it up in a ponytail, she met Pippin and Gandalf at the door. They stared at her.

"Well, don't you look nice, for once!" Gandalf said demurely. Adelaide stuck her tongue out at him.

They finally came into the great hall where they had been the day before. A table had been laid for them, with breakfast upon it. Denethor himself sat at the head of the table, and bade them to sit. A guard actually helped Adelaide into her seat and then pulled her chair closer to the table, like a gentleman should. Adelaide thanked him. Gandalf and Pippin were also seated, and breakfast was passed out.

Adelaide remembered what Gandalf had said and tried her best to give Denethor a better impression of herself. She sat up straight, tucked her napkin into her lap, drank without letting the cup touch her nose, and took small bites, chewing slowly, carefully, and silently, and with her mouth closed. She did keep silent, even when conversation arose, and only spoke when asked to. She tried her best to smile, and tried not to laugh when Gandalf made a remark that would have tickled an orc pink. But she doubted that Denethor was truly happy or pleased with her performance. After breakfast, he commented only on the fact that she might like to sing for him later, as he had heard much Adelaide bit her lip, but nodded her head.

That same day, Gandalf bade Pippin to come with him.

"Pippin," said he. "I have a task to ask of you. It is a chance for the Shire-folk to prove their worth, once again."

They were weaving their way through the stalls and markets in the lower half of Gondor, for Denethor had given them leave to walk and roam freely. Adelaide was with them, trying to keep her skirt from dragging and getting dirty, and also trying to keep up with them as best she could. Pippin nodded to Gandalf, fear in his eyes. He was scared of doing something that Gandalf could not do, even when he could have the chance to ask Adelaide about it, but he was resolute in proving to Gandalf that he was worthy of his status and new title.

"Adelaide, you are going to help," said Gandalf. "You aren't getting out of this so easily."

"Gandalf, what the hell is it?" she asked. "What are we doing?"

The wizard pointed to a tall tower made of stone. At the top of this tower was a great, woven sort of bundle, with dry twigs, moss, and much wood. Overhead, hanging from the bower, there was a lit lantern, and a great pot.

"That," said Gandalf. "Is the beacon of Minas Tirith. Today, we are going to set a few things in motion. Pippin will light the beacon, but Denethor is bound to see. So, Adelaide, you are going to give Denethor a slight distraction while Pippin climbs up there and sets the beacon off."

"Oh. I see. So I'm the distraction, hey? What do you want me to do, a strip tease or the hula?"

Gandalf glared at her. "Just do something!" he said. "And do not make it immodest, or he will most certainly suspect that you are a sorceress."

"He already thinks it, but okay."

With that, Adelaide hurried off, skirts in hand, towards the white tower again. On her way, she tripped over Beregond.

"Oh, hi!" she exclaimed. "What's up?"

"Nothing much, maid, except a lot of clouds and a blue sky. I think we shall be in for fair weather in the next few days."

"Have you checked the East?"

"Ah. That's different."

Adelaide did not have time to debate weather with the guard. She walked into the hall where Denethor sat brooding. She stood before the throne, trying to think of something to say. What sort of distractions could one give Grumpy? From there, Adelaide could see out a window; Pippin was already climbing up the tower in order to light the beacon.

She decided to try and slide into conversation before really distracting him.

"My lord Denethor," she said humbly, trying to ignore the pounding in her heart. "I beg leave to sing you a song, one that will make you laugh and weep together, for this is a time for…cheering up." Well, that wasn't quite what she wanted to say, but her formalities were okay. The words sounded so foreign to her, so alien. Oh, why couldn't she have just asked permission to sing, American-style? "Dude, can I sing for you?" Yes, that would have been much better. Denethor looked up at her, and the sourness in his face would have put a lemon to shame.

"Don't think to enchant me, foolish woman. I am stronger than you think I am."

Ouch.

"A-_hem_, I don't enchant anyone. And quit moping over Boromir. It's not my fault he's dead. We were friends. He was greatly respected and admired."

"But not so much as this foolhardy Ranger, was he, prophetess?"

Adelaide decided that "prophetess" was a lot more annoying than "lady."

"Aragorn isn't a bad person. Both he and Boromir were leaders in their own right!"

"But what was it that Boromir lacked, eh, woman? Can you tell me that?"

_Oh, the stories I could tell_. Adelaide decided not to answer that one. Denethor rose, his face a mask of anger. For a moment, Adelaide was afraid that he would strike her, for his fists were clenched, and his eyes smoldered. But then he sat back down, trembling, and sipped some water at his side. He stroked the horn that lay in his lap.

"Boromir, oh, my good and only son!" he cried. "What happened; why has this befallen our house?"

Adelaide, bored, looked out of the window, stealing a glance. Pippin was almost to the top.

"So," she said calmly. "How's Faramir doing?"

Wrong move.

Denethor exploded. "Talk not to me of that man; he is worthless to me!" he spat viciously. "I wish by all that I hold sacred that he had been killed, instead of Boromir! My real, true son is the warrior, my son, my only son! Faramir is nothing! He means nothing to me!"

"Okay, sorry! But you know, if we were all like Boromir, the world would be one hell of a boring place!"

"You, prophetess, have never met him," snarled Denethor. "So keep silent! Have you come to sing for me or not?"

"I can't sing if I'm silent," said Adelaide, tipping her nose in the air.

"SING!" roared Denethor.

_I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts_

_There they are all standing in a row_

_Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head_

_Give 'em a twist, a flick of the wrist, that's what the showman said!_

_Oh, I've got a lovely bunch of—_

"SILENCE!" shrieked Denethor. Adelaide shut up. The coconut song had been the first to pop into her head, maybe because she felt like Zazu imprisoned by Scar. But then, as Denethor settled back down into his seat, Adelaide started singing again, something completely different. She was in control of herself now. And since the situation called for a little bit of flirtatious naughtiness, she ripped off Carmen's _Habanera_.

_Lamour est un oiseau rebelle_

_Que nul ne peut apprivoiser,_

_Et c'est bien in vain qu'on l'appelle_

_S'il lui convient de refuser._

_Rien n'y fait, menace ou prière. L'un parle bien, l'autre se tait. _

_Et c'est l'autre que je préfère. Il n'a rien dit mais il me plait._

_L'amour! L'amour! L'amour! L'amour!_

_L'amour est enfant de Bohême, Il n'a jamais jamais connu de loi. _

_Si tou ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime. Si je t'aime, prends garde à toi!_

_Si tou ne m'aimes pas, si tou ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime, _

_Mais si je t'aime, si je t'aime, prends garde à toi!_

She wished she knew how to dance; otherwise, she might have sung and danced at the same time. But her voice was her best asset, at the moment. She was surprised to find that she remembered the French aria; she hadn't sung it since her little debut in Rivendell, when the Elves had asked her to sing for them. Ah, that had been marvelous. She had felt like someone then, like an opera diva. And she was determined to give ol' grumpy-pants a performance that would stick in his brain whether he wanted it or not!

As she sang, she kept stealing glances back at Pippin. Pippin had now reached the top of the tower, but looked a little unsteady. As he wobbled around, his hand caught at the pot hanging there, and it tipped, splashing a clear substance onto the wood. _Oil_, thought Adelaide. _It's oil_. As Pippin steadied himself, Adelaide saw him grab at the lantern, and he smashed it upon the wood. Flame spread quickly over the oil, eating away at the wood. Pippin stood there for a minute, proud of what he had done. Then he looked a bit helpless; the fire was spreading rapidly, and there was no safe way down from the tower. Adelaide breathed a sigh of relief between notes when he scrambled back to down to safety.

She was on the verge of going into the refrain when Denethor sensed something, and looked up sharply. Adelaide forgot to turn her head back in his direction; he caught her looking out the window, a cheerful expression on her face—one of triumph. He cried out in a mad fit of rage, and Adelaide had a hard time remembering what happened next and after. Denethor jumped off of his throne like a wild animal, a snarl curling from his lips, and he shoved her violently to one side. Rushing to the window he beheld the beacon burning, and his face twisted even more in anger. He turned back to Adelaide. She lay frozen on the floor, terrified by this unnatural turn of events.

"How has it come to this?" he shrieked. "That such deeds would pass by me unnoticed, and unheeded, when you sought to aid that miserable old man in his wicked doings? You are all in the league! Such was my trust that I gave you food and shelter, and this…THIS is how you repay me! How easily the mind of man is pulled into helplessness at the enchantments of women!"

With this last sentence thus flung, he came at her brutally, arms outstretched, and a mask of hatred burning like hell upon his face. Adelaide screamed as he laid hands on her, shaking her brutally and slapping her face from side to side. Panting with the exertion, he flung her down on the ground again, and called the guards. They took hold of her, and without another word, exited the scene, dragging her to a cell beneath the city, and locking her in.

Adelaide was speechless for a moment.

"I JUST GOT **_OUT_** OF PRISON!" she screamed.

* * *

The beacon that Pippin lit turned out to be a beacon for all times, for that light burned and burned, signaling to about a hundred other beacons between Gondor and Rohan. Over the plains, over hill and valley, mountain and snow, rock and tree, those beacons lit the path, lit the way to salvation for Gondor. But would Theoden answer that call? Would he answer to Gondor's pleading? What would he do? The question heavily weighed on many minds (and Theoden's not the least).

It was Aragorn who first spotted the last beacon far away on the hills. His eyes going as wide as dinner plates, Aragorn's legs turned into jelly with the very heat and adventure of the excitement, and half-ran, half-dragged himself into the hall of Theoden, where he breathlessly shouted, "The beacons! My king, the beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!"

King Theoden stared at him. He had been pouring over some maps and thinking of strategies, but now he looked up and gazed upon Aragorn with a new kind of understanding. His head was in a whirl. So long ago, he had been unwilling to help Gondor, because he was sore over their differences and faulty aid. Everyone held their breath; the very room was silent, save for Aragorn's heavy breathing. But now Theoden's eyes held clear resolute.

"And Rohan will answer!"

* * *

"Prepare for battle!" cried Theoden. "Gamling, how many men have we rounded up so far?"

Gamling (who was just as cool as Hama had been), wiped his brow. "Six hundred from the west village," he replied. "And three hundred more are on their way. Nine hundred total."

"With our people, that makes at least two thousand," muttered Theoden. "We need more men! Gamling! Go and see what the other scouts have rounded up for me! This day, all of Rohan must go, and ride to the mountains, were we will encamp and prepare for battle!"

"Excellent," murmured Aragorn. He turned to Legolas and Gimli. "And are you with me?"

"Your friends were ever with you, Aragorn," smiled Legolas.

The host rode from Edoras that very day. As they went, the other warriors from the villages rode out to meet them, and to ride with them to the encampment. Legolas and Gimli rode upon Arod, while Aragorn rode Brego, by the side of Theoden on Snowmane, his beloved horse of war. Gandalf may have been far away, but they still had hope left.

As they were gathering up weapons to take to the camp, Aragorn noticed that Eowyn was packing things as well.

"Are you coming?" he asked, curious. She nodded her head shyly at him.

"It's tradition for the women of court to ride out and farewell the men of the encampment," she replied. Aragorn started to nod, and then got a funny feeling in his head. Turning, he reached over and lifted her saddlebag. Underneath was hidden a sword. Eowyn's hand came down over that like a hornet, and her eyes betrayed fire.

"The men have found their captain," she said bitingly, almost pleadingly. Now that Adelaide was no longer around to help her with words, she was alone, and the most she could do was try and weave her words into conversation with the man she desperately loved from afar. Could he not see the love that she was willing to give him? "They will follow you, even to death. You have given us hope."

Aragorn felt that there was more to be said about the matter, but he let it drop. She would win the arguments, she would ride out with the men, and then possibly go to war, for all her uncle's disapproving scolding. Instead, he replied, "That is kind praise, then, my lady."

* * *

Adelaide sat sulking in her cell when Gandalf arrived.

"Thanks a lot for getting me into trouble," she snapped. "Denethor is one mean bastard. I refuse to shed tears when he dies. In fact, I'll open a bottle of champagne and celebr—"

"Adelaide, shut up and listen to me," the wizard said urgently. "This is an unexpected stroke of luck! While you are down here, you will be safe from the battle. I will bring you a couple of books, if you like, and some food, but you will be safe down here."

"That's on the presumption that Mordor won't win!" Adelaide panicked. "But what if they do?"

"Well, you'd best figure out how entertain orcs. They're rather fussy about their amusements. But you stay down here, and DON'T MOVE. I'll be very angry if you do!"

"The hell you—hey! Gandalf, wait! Where are you going? Aw…shit! Abandoned again." Adelaide sat down on her cot and kicked out at a rat.

Life was not fair.

* * *

Meanwhile, the host of Osgiliath retreated back to the city. Men on horseback galloped as fast as they could on the plains that stretched between the garrison and the city, but they had a new enemy to contend with: Nazgul. Overhead, clouds gathered like the host of Isenguard had once done, black and threatening. The Nazgul soared below this, sitting atop their fell beasts which shrieked loudly and zoomed in low for a vicious kill.

All looked grim, until Gandalf came riding forward, his staff raised high. From his staff, there emitted a long and bright light. It's radiance pierced through the clouds, and drove away the Nazgul, while the men of Gondor hurried to safety, guided by the wizard's staff. They charged back into the city, and the gates shut tight behind them.

Faramir, his face streaked with sweat and dirt and blood, rode to Gandalf. "They have overtaken our defenses," he gasped. "Osgiliath is totally overrun, Mithrandir! There was nothing we could do."

"It is as the Lord Denethor has forseen!" called a blonde-haired general in the crowd, one of Denethor's favorites (and an absolute jerk-faced noncompoop, by the way). "Long has he foreseen this doom!"

"Foreseen and done nothing!" snapped Gandalf, whirling Shadowfax about to face Faramir. Even as he did so, Faramir caught a look at the face of Pippin, and he nearly stopped breathing. He stared at Pippin, long and hard, as if he could not believe his eyes. Gandalf saw the gaze, and noted it.

"What is it?" he pressed. "Faramir…this is not the first hobbit you have seen!"

Faramir shook his head, and Pippin's face suddenly lit up. "You've seen Frodo and Sam!"

Faramir must have been having a bad day, because he looked really out of it. And yet the hobbit's joy made him realize the great reward he was having just by knowing that he had left Sam and Frodo to go their way. He nodded, and Gandalf's grip on the hobbit's shoulder intensified.

"How long ago?"

"Not two days. In Ithilien. Gandalf…they're taking the road to the Morgul Vale."

Gandalf went stock still.

"And then the pass of Cirith Ungol?"

Faramir nodded. Gandalf bit his lip.

"Why that way? And who is leading them up that path?"

"I know not, but this creature Frodo has named Smeagol is guiding them. He had an ill-favored look to my eye, but it is possible that Frodo may draw some kindness yet from him."

Gandalf did not look pleased, but in his eye there was a troubled look.

"Faramir…tell me everything."

Pippin and Faramir continued to stare at each other, akin, and yet different.

* * *

If you thought Denethor couldn't look any more sour than he actually was—guess what? You're dead wrong!

He glared at Faramir, his remaining son, who had finished relating everything that had passed in Ithilien and Osgiliath. Faramir, as a captain, felt it his duty to give the general report, whatever the consequences would be, and so informed his father of Frodo and Sam, the Ring, and his decision. But on that point, Denethor became madder than hell, and clutched the seat of the throne wildly, his knuckles turning white. He had no immediate love for Faramir, who shone about as dim as a low-watt bulb compared to sunshine-Boromir. Still, Faramir had his good qualities, which we shall mention later. For now, Denethor was blinded by his rage, and could not understand one simple thing.

"You…what?"

Faramir gulped and prepared himself for one of those father-and-youngest-son-moments.

"The Halflings are taking the pass of Cirith Ungol—"

"I…heard…you," Denethor snarled, gripping the chair as if to refrain from leaping out and tearing apart his son limb by limb. "This…is how you would serve your city! You would risk its utter ruin!"

As far as Faramir was concerned, he felt that Gondor was already pretty much ruined, what with no king and all, but he dared not intimidate his father worse than he already had.

"I did what I judged to be right," he said calmly, trying not to let fear show. The old man could often be rather frightening in his rages, and ever since he had been a boy, he was frightened of his father's anger and displeasure. But Denethor was beyond angry now.

"What you judged to be right! What you—!" he spat. "You sent the Ring of Power into Mordor…in the hands of a witless HALFLING!"

Faramir had one brief memory of Frodo, as he had nearly offered the Ring to the Enemy…as Sam his servant prevented it from happening…he had seen the temptation, the cruelty, and the injustice. He had seen so many things in that one moment, and he ascertained his innocence once more.

"It should have been brought back to the citadel," Denethor continued, his eyes taking on a gleam of greed. "And kept safe. Hidden. Guarded, deep in the vaults. Not to be used… unless at the utmost end of need."

Faramir recalled a day when he and Boromir, as youngsters, had come across some very revealing papers in the vaults of the library. They had been down there on a treasure-hunt (mostly Boromir's idea; he was always thinking up those sort of things), and had come across the papers, which were so full of words and images pertaining to something rather forbidden, that they quickly left them down there and raced back upstairs. But for the longest time, those words and images haunted them, and they kept stealing back into the vaults for another peek until Denethor had caught them both at it and gave them a sound scolding. If the Ring were to be put in the vaults, it would be like those forbidden papers. It would prey upon his mind, and he'd constantly go back to look at it, with the temptation of usage. So his words fell empty to Faramir.

"I would not take the Ring," he said firmly. "Not if Minas Tirith were falling in ruin and I were unable to save her!"

"Ever you desire to appear lordly and gracious, as a king of old," mocked Denethor. "Boromir would have remembered his father's need. He would have brought me a kingly gift!"

Much as Faramir loved his brother, he now felt a flash of anger, recalling that day when the task had been set for him. Denethor drove him to it in his greed, and in his own greed, Boromir had fallen. Faramir could instantly see the connection, and he looked his father squarely in the eyes.

"Boromir would not have brought the Ring," he shot at him. "He would have stretched out his hand and taken it as his own—"

"You know nothing of this matter!" Denethor snarled, but Faramir continued, on a roll.

"He would have kept it as his own! And when he returned…you would not have known your son."

Denethor stood up wildly. "Boromir was loyal to me!" he screamed. "Not some wizard's pupil!" He waved his hands wildly, snarling viciously at his son. In his efforts to somehow clout Faramir over the head with the scepter he carried, he was thrown off balance, and hit the floor, banging his head against the stone chair. He gasped in pain, and shuddered. Faramir took a hesitant step forward.

"Father?"

Denethor looked up. A vision came to him in that instant, a vision he greatly enjoyed. It was as if Boromir were back from the dead, a kingly man now, hair shining like spun gold in the light, his smile and laughing brown eyes sparkling even as his own had used to do, when his wife was alive. Boromir was turning behind Faramir, smiling and walking towards his father. Denethor went forward, arms outstretched, a look of joyful madness upon his features; his eyes wet with tears of gladness.

"My son!"

Faramir couldn't figure out what had brought on this strange change; maybe knocking his head on the chair had done it. In any case, he could not see the vision, and as Denethor reached out to touch Boromir, the vision vanished, and the Steward was left staring at his younger son, who was staring back at him in helpless confusion. That was an image that maddened Denethor to the core, and he frowned deeply upon Faramir.

"Leave me!" he snapped, turning and falling upon the chair, weeping again.

* * *

**I do apologize for my choice of songs. There's so many to choose from. But in all seriousness, I DID choose the coconut song because, well, I just got done singing it for a theatrical production. It's a real 40's song, and I had to sing some 40's songs for the play. So I found the coconut song, thought it would be fun, and sang that along with a bunch of others. As for the "Habanera," that was seriously the only song I could think of to entertain Denethor. Plus, the translation of the song kind of-sort of refers to her relationship to Legolas. Fun stuff. R&R! How am I doing?**


	10. Time to Meditate

Chapter 10

Time to Meditate

**Okay, this was a huge decision to make. In my original plot, Faramir helps Adelaide to escape by letting her dress up as a soldier and ride to Osgiliath; halfway there, she breaks away and rides to the Rohan camp. But the more I thought about it, the more I didn't like it. It was way too Mary-Sue-ish and very unbelievable. So I completely revamped the entire thing. **

**Adelaide is going to stay in Minas Tirith…sort of.**

**

* * *

**

Adelaide was moodily drawing pictures on her cell wall when Beregond rushed in and clutched at her prison bars. "My lady!" he cried. "Faramir is here! He heard of you from Gandalf, and now he wishes to see you!"

"Oh, that's nice. And for the record, please call me Adelaide. If one more person calls me his lady, I'm _so_ going to knock heads off."

"Adelaide, I was going to say that Captain Faramir shall get you out. Have no fear! I shall speak to him about the matter; perhaps something may be done."

"Tell him to get me a martini, while he's at it," snapped Adelaide, but Beregond was already racing down the hall. "Damn the man," she muttered. "They all have their heads up their yin-yangs. Won't anybody listen to the poor, pathetic damsel in distress?"

It was not long before the iron door opened again, and Faramir descended into the jail. Adelaide took a good, long look at Boromir's baby brother. He was very handsome in person. She smiled cheerfully.

"Hail, Faramir, son of Denethor! What news from the outside world?"

He pulled up short, and then smiled. "The Ringbearer said little of you. A devoted lover. But I can see why. You're no prophetess. You're just a child!"

Adelaide held her tongue. Faramir continued to smile at her. "This is a rare chance for me, I must confess. We in Minas Tirith, and indeed, all over Gondor, we have heard of you from the men of Rohan. But the real thing is a far cry from rumors or any portrait words could paint. I find you simple, lady, and fair in your own right. How came you here?"

"Ask your dad."

"Did you anger him?"

"No, I gave him a bubble-gum-flavored bubble-bath and made him all sunny-happy. Of course I pissed him off! It was bound to happen. Your brother told me he hated my guts."

"And yet you came here?"

"Hey, Gandalf dragged me along!"

"What is your name?" Faramir asked gently. "We only know you as 'prophetess.' But surely Frodo, son of Drogo, knows you by another."

"Yes, he calls me his little mushroom." Adelaide laughed. "But my real name is Adelaide."

"A gentle name for such an independent young woman!" Faramir's eye twinkled. "I've come to give you news of your beloved, though it pains me to say these things. The tidings I have are not good. Your Frodo Baggins follows a creature he calls Smeagol to Cirith Ungol, where it is said that a dark, terrible terror dwells! Yet I would have you take comfort, in that he has a stalwart companion, as stout and truehearted as I should ever hope a friend to be."

"You mean Sam."

"You know him?"

"I spent seventeen years in the Shire," Adelaide explained. "I know everyone there."

"And Frodo is your betrothed?"

"Well, not yet. He wants to marry me, though. So we're sort of engaged, though he hasn't proposed yet, and the announcement hasn't been made."

Faramir was as fascinated as a child with a new toy. He raised a hand. "I would speak with you as long as possible," he said. "But I have little time for such amusing diversions, though I will say that you are the first thing to put a smile on my face for a long time. I'll come to the point: Beregond wishes you free. But I ask, what have you done?"

Adelaide quickly outlined the situation. Faramir shook his head. "It is true that my father has moods of a variety, but is that to be wondered at, when his son—my brother—has just died?"

"Well, I'm sorry for him, but he can't just vent his anger on anyone he wants."

Faramir looked into her eyes. "And what would you have me do?" he asked. "I cannot free you without my father knowing. It would mean trouble for the both of us. I am already in enough trouble—I can sense that from the way my father has already received me."

"Oh. Cracking down on you, is he?"

"If that means that he is upset with what I have done, yes, he is."

"But indeed, Faramir, what _have_ you done? Let a little hobbit with a mission to save Middle Earth go…you let him do his thing, you went about yours, and you're doing a damn good job. You know those orcs would have never been able to retreat. There were too many for you and your men. It's over…for now, anyway. I swear, if you go back again, there will be a slaughter."

"But now I must suffer the wrath of my father, and his chastising rod of a tongue is sharp."

"You're all he has left."

"Now that Boromir is gone," said Faramir, and his face was sad. Adelaide looked at him with sympathy and tried to think of something appropriate to say.

"I miss him, too."

Faramir smiled gently. "Then you knew my brother…you saw that he loved you?"

Adelaide nodded.

"Ah, he loved you from the moment he heard of you. He was not so eager to go to Rivendell, for his place, he believed, was with his people, but he was eager to see you. Alas! My brother knew no good remedy for such heartache," he said. "Nor did he know how to properly court a young woman. I daresay you ignored him."

"Why should I…I liked him as a friend."

Faramir stared. "So you have no millions of lovers?"

"Geez, the rumors people spread! I did date a lot in he Shire, but I just happen to have a lot of friends—guys and girls alike. A woman can be the friend of a man, right?"

Faramir looked puzzled. "I suppose," he said. "I have never had a female friend before."

"Well, you can start with me. Hey—I have the future king of Gondor for a friend, as well as the Ringbearer, his hobbit friends, the king of Rohan, his son, and a bunch of others. Now I have the Captain Faramir. And speaking of love, I think I ought to inform you of a particularly beautiful young woman whom you should definitely meet in the near future…how do you like blonde hair?"

* * *

Pippin sat in the long white corridor on a small bench, light streaming in from the outside windows. He wore the livery of the soldiers of Gondor, and was rapidly mumbling to himself, rehearsing the words he would speak at his inauguration to the service of the Steward. It was a short ceremony, (short 'n sweet, as Adelaide liked to call it), but he found himself tripping over the words again and again. Unkind thoughts ran through his head; not educated, not reliable, too immature, forgetful, childish, inexperienced, a downright loser…

"What were you thinking, Pippin?" he muttered to himself. "You're such an idiot…what can a hobbit possibly do?"

"It was well-done," said a kindly voice, and Pippin looked up to see Faramir striding towards him, looking amused. In the first few minutes that they had seen each other, Pippin had been astounded, for Faramir resembled Boromir in many ways (except, of course, for the fact that Faramir was much cleaner-looking, and obviously had a brain underneath all that hair—and a good heart). He had been amazed to learn that Faramir was Boromir's little brother, and had wondered at one point whether or not they had engaged in water-fights, pillow-fights, or any other kind of boyish game. The man he saw before him seemed incapable of doing anything utterly horrible, and he had been longing for a chance to speak with him about Frodo and Sam.

Now he stood in respect for this noble captain, and Faramir looked down at him in kindness.

"A generous deed should not be checked by cold council," Faramir said warmly. "And you've amused my father, at any rate. I believe he was reminded of his own youth, or else mine or Boromir's. You're to join the tower guard," he added, smiling. Pippin cracked a girn.

"I didn't think they would find any livery that would fit me," he said shyly.

"It once belonged to a young boy," Faramir grinned. "A very foolish lad, who spent many hours fighting dragons instead of attending to his studies."

"This was yours?" Pippin was shocked and gladdened.

"Yes, my father had it made for me," Faramir's eyes clouded in remembering that day.

"Well, I'm taller than you were, then," said Pippin. "Though, I'm not liable to grow anymore, except sideways."

Faramir laughed. "It never fitted me either," he said softly. "Boromir was always the soldier. The brave one. They were so alike, he and my father. Proud. Stubborn, too, at times. But brave, nonetheless. And always very strong."

Pippin looked up at this man who to him was already like a brother. "I think you have strength too…of a different kind," he said softly. "And one day, your father will see it."

Faramir looked down upon the hobbit kindly, and smiled very thinly, recalling days of the past…and present.

Well, let us jump ahead to about an hour later, when Faramir had cleaned a bit, and rested his weary body. Nothing had been quite resolved between him and Adelaide yet; she knew she wasn't about to be let out. But Faramir had yet to approach his father, and that, he felt, was more of a challenge than setting the girl loose. As he approached the great hall, he saw his father at a little table, with his meal spread out before him. Gandalf stood to one side, while Pippin sat, a little mournfully, by the Steward's side. Poor Pippin looked as if he were about to cry; a man eating in front of a rather thin and hungry hobbit is no consolation. Denethor hardly looked up at his son as he entered, but his voice was like water off a glacier.

"So the garrison has fallen," he said coldly. Faramir nodded.

"We were outnumbered; they have taken Osgiliath," he said. Denethor gave his son a chilly look.

"Could you not have held it?"

Faramir bit his lip. "No."

Denethor appeared to smirk. Pippin shivered; someone really needed to crank up the thermostat. Really, it was too cold. Gandalf just stood to the side, saying nothing.

"It is too bad that Boromir is not here," said Denethor. "At least he would have obeyed me in this manner. I do not think we should so lightly abandon the outer defenses your brother long held intact."

"What would you have me do?" Faramir asked helplessly.

"I will not leave the river unfought. Osgiliath must be retaken."

"My lord, Osgliliath is overrun."

"I will not surrender it."

Practicality clashed with the stubborn jack-ass of a frozen posicle; Pippin stared at this debate, not really understanding Denethor's mind in the least.

"Much must be risked in war. Is there no captain here who has the courage to do his lord's will?"

Pippin wasn't so sure if anyone would raise their hands; and sure enough, nobody did. But Faramir was trembling slightly, and his eyes were full of hurt. It was as if he had been struck by an arrow. Faramir, though a man, had what is called a heart, and at that moment, he wanted to cry. " Do you wish, then, that our places would have been exchanged?" he said bitterly. "That I had died and Boromir had lived?"

For a long time, no one spoke. Then Denethor sipped from his cup silently. "I do," he said softly, bitterly. "I wish that." Faramir hung it head, shaken, but nonetheless with a harder sense of humor.

"Very well, then," he said with an effort. "Since you are robbed of Boromir, I will do what I can to aid the garrison."

He turned and began walking out, arms held stiffly at his side. His whole bearing was one of nobility, but certainly he wasn't feeling very noble at the moment. At the door, he turned.

"If I should return, think better of me, father."

"That will depend on the manner of your return," said Denethor.

Pippin was beginning to think that he had made one huge mistake in peeping into the Palantir, getting swept off to a madman's house, and then swearing service to a man who would drive his son needlessly to suicide! Gandalf said nothing, as usual, but his face was grave, and his concerned eyes followed Faramir out of the room. Then he turned, and walked from the room as well.

Pippin found himself suddenly quite lone with the Steward of Gondor. He tried to look useful in some way, but he wasn't sure how to begin. All these cities and great things seemed to be too much for him; he was reminded of when Treebeard had told him that he was only so little, and could not do very much in the great debate of life. He was beginning to believe it.

"Can you sing?" asked Denethor, suddenly. Pippin looked up.

"Well," he said softly, a little dejectedly. "Yes. In my own country, I can, anyway. But we have no songs fit for large halls like these, or times of war."

"And why should your songs be unfit for my halls?" asked Denethor (man, he had issues, just like Boromir). "Come, sing me a song."

Pippin cleared his throat.

* * *

"I like this place!"

Gimli was very much at home in the encampment by the mountain. Already the men were at the campsite, camped out, stabled, and ready for war. About six thousand men were camped at the bottom of a cliff, while others remained at the top, near a great canyon of mountains. Here, Theoden could look out over his new and improved army. It was looking snappy. He had ridden into camp, all the neat little white tents arranged in nice orderly lines around, while cooking plantations were established. Nobody spoke. Everything was very silent. King Theoden seemed to be in a fell mood as he grumpily surveyed things. It could have been worse, and he wasn't ungrateful, but for some reason, he just felt like things were slightly hopeless. Six thousand. It was better than three hundred at the Hornburg, but the Enemy still outnumbered them.

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli also rode into camp beside the King. Aragorn was in a depression stage; he knew well enough that although Theoden was trying his hardest, six thousand wasn't quite enough men to aid Gondor. Gimli bounced up and down behind Legolas.

"Well, here we go again," he huffed. "We'd better be into some action pretty soon. My axe is restless."

Legolas dismounted, his face troubled. "The horses are restless, and the men are quiet," he observed quietly. Eomer overheard him and nodded towards the great cliff that overshadowed the camp.

"They feel the power of the Door under the Mountain," he said. "That place is cursed. Stay far away from that, my friend."

"Cursed?" asked Gimli. "Humph. I don't believe it. In any case, it can't be any worse than some of the things we've been through."

"Harmless as Fangorn, Gimli? What say you?" asked Legolas. "Haunted is what it has been called, and yet one must wonder."

* * *

"Well," said Adelaide dryly. "It was very kind of you to bring me lunch, Faramir."

"Not at all," said the man. He sighed. "I know how you must feel…shuttered away like this in a cage…"

"Well, at least it's clean," remarked Adelaide. "And at least someone around here cares. How come you're not eating?" Adelaide had devoured at least half the lunch already, and was rapidly trying to drink while she was at it. Faramir had eaten nothing; he looked tired and upset.

"My father bids me go back to Osgiliath."

"What for?"

"To retake the garrison. I have as many men as my father can spare me; the rest are to stay here."

"He knows it's suicide, right?"

"Yes." Faramir seemed dull. Adelaide reached through the bars and covered his clasped hands with one of hers. He looked up at her.

"You have to trust me," she said quietly. "When I say that everything is going to be okay."

"I wish I had your faith."

"I'm the prophetess, remember?" Adelaide winked. "But listen, Faramir, all of that aside, you've got to get me out of here. I've made up my mind. I don't want to be here when the storm hits…I've got to get back to the Fellowship! Things are going to happen with them, and I can't be hanging around here waiting for the storm to blow over—if it ever does. I refuse to be stuck down here!"

"I can do nothing."

"You're a captain. Get the keys and unlock the door. It's that simple."

"It is not! My father will punish us both. I cannot go against his will as it stands firm already."

"Your father's a quack! We all have our moments, but your dad is taking this to the limit, and it's not funny at all. You get me out of Minas Tirith Faramir, you get me out of Gondor itself, or so help me, I will make you regret your decision for the rest of your born days!"

Faramir stared at her. She was trembling. He sighed. "I ride for Osgiliath once more," he murmured. "I am to try and retake the garrison. I cannot help you now, but perhaps when I return—"

"DID YOU NOT HEAR ME? IT'S SUICIDE. YOU ARE GOING TO BE TIRED AND WOUNDED TO BOOT, AND ALL YOUR MEN ARE GOING TO DIE. GET ME OUT NOW."

Faramir was taken aback. "But how am I to—"

"Here's my idea. It's radical, but get used to it. I once read a story about an American woman named Deborah Samson. She dressed as a soldier during the American Revolution to fight for her country. So here's my plan. Dress me like a soldier of Gondor; let me ride with you as far as the hill overlooking Osgiliath, and then I'm going to break apart from your ranks. Give 'em hell from me, Faramir. I'll ride back to my Fellowship, and no one's the wiser! Your father won't know two cents about it, and if he ever does find out, then oh-my-goodness and woe-betide-him. I really don't give a shit."

"You're mad! Completely mad!" Faramir stood up angrily. "I cannot possibly—"

"If you don't help me, I'll go over to the Enemy and let them know the ending to the story!" Adelaide played her last card.

Faramir froze. "You would not dare. Think of Frodo."

Damn it, he had her there. But Adelaide pressed her face against the bars. "Faramir, you have to help me. Nobody else will."

"I'm afraid it's useless, maid. I cannot allow you to do this thing. To escape is one thing, but to dress as one of my soldiers and ride with my host—impossible! I will not let you take that chance. There are Nazgul who would spy you out and kill you. You had better do as Gandalf says, maid, and stay down here. You are much safer where you are, and that is my final word."

"What? No! Hey—where are you going? Come back! Don't leave—aw, SHIT! YOU'RE AS NUTTY AS YOUR OLD MAN!" she yelled angrily, plopping down on her bunk again. Life wasn't fair! Why were they leaving her here, all locked up like this? A rat scurried out from the darkness, sniffing for food, and Adelaide, with a well-aimed kick, scored a goal through the bars. It wasn't fair. Aragorn and the rest were going to have all the fun—

She stopped.

Why should they have all the fun?

A slow smile spread over her face. Oh yes, she may be jailed here. But her imagination could send her anywhere she wanted. All she had to do was to fall asleep, or meditate very hard. Practice. Beregond had mentioned PRACTICE. Well, now was as good a time as any! She would obey Gandalf and Faramir, insofar as what they wanted. She wouldn't escape. They could hold her body there. But not her mind. Not her spirit. Not the other part of her.

* * *

Faramir mounted his horse. Together with his men, he started out of the city, processing silently past the people who had come out to see the army. These men were going on to their death, and she knew it. And the people—especially the women—came to throw flowers at the feet of the soldiers, as their horses trod over them. Their faces were as granite statues, carved from stone, as silent and resolute as the faces of their forefathers had been.

_Home is behind…_

Gandalf came tearing through the crowd. He was hurrying along, and trying to break through the people. He finally caught up with Faramir, whose face was stern as steel, harsh and resolute.

"Faramir!" called Gandalf. "Your father's will has turned to madness. Do not throw away your life in rashness or hardness," he said gently, almost tenderly.

"If my loyalties do not lie here, then where else shall they be? I love this city, and I shall defend her to the last."

_The world ahead…_

"Your father loves you Faramir, and he will remember it ere the end."

_And there are many paths to tread…_

_

* * *

_

Frodo Baggins was currently sleeping upon the stairs that led upward into the mountains. His crumpled-up form was curled restlessly on a precarious crag overlooking the hell's gates of Minas Morgul. I don't suppose it would help to say that he and Sam still had Gollum with them, and that he was indeed plotting treacherous, nasty things. Sam did not intend to let him get away with any of it. He knew Gollum to be a Benedict Arnold, and somewhere along the line, he would slip up. But for now, they needed to rest so that Frodo could get his strength back. He was exhausted.

Frodo's mind drifted off into an endless sea of dreams, all of them nasty and unpleasant. He missed Adelaide with all his heart. So when at last he sat up, all sleep fell from him, and he swallowed hard. Imagining her was getting harder and harder.

"It's so dark," he remarked. "Why, is it even day or night around here?"

"Sillies," mumbled Gollum. "Not nice times, no, not decent times. No night, no day. All dark, all the time."

Sam raised his hand as if to strike Gollum. "Who asked for your opinion?" he asked harshly. "Leave us alone, you wretch!"

Gollum spat. The green glint left his eyes, as if reminiscing. Frodo looked up, startled. Sam was also staring at Gollum. The creature covered his eyes and head, like an old, naked hobbit, and began to weep. Frodo glared at Sam.

"Sam, you hurt his feelings!"

Sam stared. "I didn't mean to, Mr. Frodo! I just didn't want him poking after everything we say…that's all."

Frodo glared at Sam and held his hand out to Gollum, who took it and huddled near to Frodo, though he stank. Seeing the two of them there, with such comfort as they had, was more than Sam could bear. Didn't his master care that this thing was wretched and cruel, and lustful? What was wrong with Frodo? Didn't he have any sense? What had happened to him, to Sam, to faithful Sam?

Frodo finally curled up again, dreams and nightmares blending. Adelaide was laughing, laughing gaily as she had in the Shire, beckoning him, teasing him, pulling at his arm to make him get up and follow her. She was playful, seductive, and quite charming, but Frodo was in no mood for that. In his dream, he lashed out at her for the first time since his argument with her over Adelard. But Adelaide laughed.

Damn her, she was always laughing!

In his dream, the little hobbit began to cry. She wouldn't leave him alone, would not stop laughing that little girl laugh. She teased him, he wanted her, he wanted to press his lips against her throat and bury his tongue deep in her mouth, and stab her even more fervently with his hardened cock, so that she moaned and screamed his name. He did not want her to laugh. He didn't want her to laugh the way she did, teasing him, all the time with that mischievous smile, who knew what she was planning, what games were going on in her devious little mind…

Drifting off into a sea of limp exhaustion, Frodo raised his arm and tried to feel for her. But she was not there.

Anger boiled up inside him, and now the Ring took hold of his heart in one desperate move. Where was she? Why hadn't she come along? She could have, if she wanted to…! But she couldn't wait to be alone with that Elf. That tall, handsome, strong, brave, adoring Elf. Oh, he was everything a woman would live for, die for! Perhaps she was with him, right now, lying alongside of him in a tent, the filthy whore—

Frodo gritted his teeth, and the Ring took a firmer hold on his heart. The one thing that had seemed impossible for anyone to grasp…only she had the key to his heart, but now the Ring had that key, and it was turning instead, the lock to his mind.

_She's practically a child! What did she ever know about love? If she had really cared, she'd have stayed in Rivendell to wait for me, not come tramping after us…she made herself open to that Elf. She made herself open to him…Eru only knows what else she's opening to him! After all, didn't she want that Elf? Ever since she met him, she acted strange around me. And now she has probably already let him into her bed; she's probably lost her virginity to him. I was supposed to have it!_

_Oh, Frodo…what are you thinking about? I feel something strange about you…don't you give up on me now! What are you saying to yourself there in the darkness?_

_

* * *

_

Adelaide suddenly snapped out of her spell. That was vivid! Too vivid. Oh, what was wrong? Why was Frodo feeling this way towards her? What was going on? Fear clutched at her heart. No. She had to leave Frodo; she could not let him reach her or connect with her. He had a job to do, and her memory was making things worse. She had to stop reaching out…for now. She wanted to get to the Fellowship. Where were they? Aragorn…picture Aragorn.

She closed her eyes and focused again.

_Through shadow…_

Oh, damn it. All she could think of was the plains between Osgiliath and Minas Tirith. And her waking meditations were not strong enough to place herself out there, not yet. But she could see, in her mind's eye, the host riding towards the garrison.

_Cloud and shade…_

Faramir raised his hand and shouted the charge. The world stood still. And then the men rushed down the hill towards Osgiliath.

_Home shall fade…all shall fade…_

Adelaide bit her lip and opened her eyes.

Gandalf stood in front of her.

"Practicing?"

He looked very old and sad. He had known, all along, that this venture was suicide, and that Faramir was riding out to purposefully get himself killed. There was and is nothing more bitter in the world than a man driven to despair because he feels unloved and unwanted. Adelaide stretched out her hand between the bars and Gandalf took it, rubbing his thumb over her slim fingers. He smiled gently at her.

"I wonder if I did a very selfish thing, in bringing you here."

"Selfish?"

"Forgive me. An old man's ruminations." Gandalf rubbed his brow. "I wish even now I could let you out, but my better sense tells me, very firmly, that it's better you stay in here."

"I don't mind," Adelaide said, and at that, the wizard pricked up his ears.

"Adelaide Elspeth Genevieve Edessa, what do you mean, you don't mind?"

She smiled.

"Well, you're always encouraging me to slow down and meditate, aren't you? This is a perfect opportunity to do just that."

Her smile was an angel's.


	11. Hey! I've Got a Twin!

Chapter 11

Hey! I've got a Twin!

**Alright, I do apologize for the lack of updates. This chapter was difficult because a LOT happens here, and it is somewhat of a pivotal moment in the third book. Plus, I found a job, at long last, and have been in training! Yay for me! I've also been working with polymer clay, making all sorts of interesting things. Then there's all the other stuff of life that comes up when you live at home with family and surrounded by relatives. So life is busy and peachy all at the same time, and I'm finally glad to sit down and fix a few more chapters for my fans. Thanks so much for your patience and support!**

**

* * *

**

_The imagination is like a muscle. Much like memorization. _

_a²+b²=c²_

"_We hold these truths to be self-evident…"_

_The average length of an adult male sperm whale is 60 feet._

"_I am the Lord thy God; thou shall not have false gods before Me."_

_Leif Erikson discovered North America._

_The body is made up of ¾ water. _

_I can shut my eyes and transport myself anywhere I want. When I really think about it. When I really use that muscle, flex it, lift the weight of a memory, a dream, a vision…holy fuck, those things are not light as air, as people believe. _

To her dying day, Adelaide was never quite sure how she managed to split herself in half and get her twin to the encampment by the mountain. One thing was certain, though…she would never again criticize the contemplative life. Meditation was hard, hard work, and purposefully imagining yourself into another place was extremely difficult. Adelaide felt that she popped several brain-cells. But when she finally climbed over the hill and into the camp, the first person she met up with was Eomer.

And he was so shocked, he screamed.

Adelaide had never heard Eomer scream before, and it was very embarrassing. It was even more embarrassing when he shoved her, to make sure she was real.

"HOLY VALAR, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE, MAID? Why aren't you in Gondor, in the city of Minas Tirith? Does Gandalf know where you're at?" he demanded.

"Uh…no, but I'm having a running dream," Adelaide stammered. "Purposefully. I wanted to come back and see how everyone's doing."

"The lord Aragorn will skin you alive, maid!"

"He can't do that. He's a softy."

"I doubt he'll be very pleased, anyway! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. We none of us want you here right now. You were supposed to stay in the city! Can we do nothing to keep you safe?" Eomer frowed angrily at her, but sighed helplessly when Adelaide's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, good lord. Well, so long as you are here, try to avoid Aragorn, as much as you can. I wash my hands of you, and will not be involved with a miscreant. You aren't my problem, thank goodness. I'd have chucked myself off the mountain-top by now. You must drive the Fellowship absolutely crazy."

"Where's Eowyn?" Adelaide wiped away her tears. She was ashamed to cry. Good God, who the fuck cared? Let him yell at her. She had made the decision to come back, and it wasn't as if she had run away. Her original twin was still in Minas Tirith.

"My sister is bringing food to the men. If I escort you to her, will you help her? And for Eru's sake, get a cloak and hide your face whenever Aragorn passes. Otherwise, I'd hate to be in your shoes."

She stuck her tongue out at him.

They found Eowyn down by the tents near the base of the mountain, serving food and medicine as needed. She had a huge bag she carried over her shoulder, and she dropped it with an exclamation as Eomer escorted Adelaide forward. Explanations and apologies and whatever else were quickly given, but Adelaide was a little disturbed to see that Eowyn appeared flustered and nervous to see her friend, instead of happy and excited. She attributed this to the very unannounced and informal arrival of her person.

Eowyn stared at her friend. How these Americans did get around! The young woman of Rohan felt a stab of jealousy. For too long had she felt like an animal in a cage, pressing against the iron bars of society that held her in place. Eowyn wished renown among the men for deeds of valor in battle, or at least for a heroic part in adventures great and small. Her place, as a woman, was to tend the sick and dying, to find food for the soldiers, and lend what comfort she could to those that needed her. Watching Adelaide have all the fun was, to say the least, very disturbing to her, and not fair at all. That her friend had returned to help her was little comfort; Eowyn felt invaded by this strong feminine presence, and so consequently felt no obligation to be cheerful around her at the moment.

Adelaide was uncomfortably aware that perhaps, in some weird way, she had rained on Eowyn's parade. Feminine intuition and natural, gut feeling told her that maybe coming to the encampment was a bad idea. Nobody seemed to want her around, even though this was a running dream. The focus now was on war. Adelaide was out of place, and she knew it, but she was afraid of missing important events.

She and Eowyn worked silently, not speaking to each other at first, but then Eowyn's curiosity got the better of her, and she asked Adelaide about how life was going in Gondor. She immediately regretted the question. Adelaide flooded her ears with adventures of verbally-slamming the Steward, watching the return of the men from Osgiliath, the lighting of the beacons, her distractions of Denethor, getting thrown into prison again, her talks with Gandalf, and her conversations with Gondorian soldiers. Slice after slice of jealousy gripped Eowyn. It wasn't fair. How did Adelaide get to have all the fun, and she didn't?

"And there's a captain you have to meet," Adelaide continued. "His name is Faramir, and the two of you would SO fit together. He's brave, he's handsome, he's high-ranking, and he's straight and single. What more could you ask for?"

"Trying to set me up, are you?"

"He's interested in meeting you. I told him all about you."

That was another thing that got on Eowyn's nerves. Adelaide had a very bad habit of playing matchmaker and counselor. Suppose this Faramir was nothing but another horny bastard? Eowyn had eyes only for Aragorn, and felt that Adelaide was not giving THAT relationship enough attention. She would have said that Adelaide was jealous, if the girl wasn't so damn head-over-heels in love with a blue-eyed Halfling of fifty years.

"Faramir." Eowyn tested the name on her tongue. "It is not an altogether disagreeable name. Is that not the lord Denethor's youngest son? He used to have an elder. Boromir, I think his name was. You claimed this man died…and this Faramir is his brother? How interesting."

But she didn't sound interested. Adelaide was quiet, then, and the two girls worked in silence again.

"The hobbit Meriadoc has sworn his service to my uncle," Eowyn said presently.

"Did he really?"

"Yes. I admire his courage. It seems as though these Halflings have great courage and strength of heart."

"They do," Adelaide said warmly, thinking of Frodo. "They're true and loyal. Sam, the guy who's with my boyfriend right now, he—"

"Let us go up to the top encampment," Eowyn interrupted. "I wish to speak with my uncle." Another stab of womanly jealousy…Eowyn was tired of the fact that Adelaide had a boyfriend, too.

"Oh, you go on," Adelaide stammered, confused by the interruption and nervous about meeting up with Aragorn. "I'll finish up down here."

Eowyn's eyes reflected something akin to scorn. "You wish to stay here with the men?"

The way she said it was cruel, hurtful. Adelaide cocked her head in disbelief. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Well…I'd come with, but your brother told me to keep away from Aragorn. He's not supposed to know I'm walking around here."

At the moment, Eowyn didn't look as though she'd keep the secret. "Suit yourself," she said. "But your Elf is meandering down here. If you truly wish to avoid my lord Aragorn, you'd prefer the Prince of Mirkwood's attentions, perhaps."

"Eowyn, what the hell has gotten into you?"

"You'll forgive me," came the curt reply. "But I've business with my uncle, and doubtless my lord Aragorn will wish my services as well."

Adelaide was left quite slack-jawed.

* * *

Frodo and Sam slept peacefully upon the stairway of Cirith Ungol. All thoughts of the mission had vanished, and the only thing that remained were dark and senseless dreams of the void into which they were going—and from which they might never return. Frodo slept as he always did, his hands curled up and tucked under her chest, while his cloak covered him like a blanket. His soft face was peaceful and yet his brow was dark and troubled.

_She had filled a tub with hot, steaming water, and had set out a soft towel and some soap in the dish for him. By the time he came back into the hole in the evening, he was surprised to find the lights dimly lit, the curtains drawn over the windows, and her standing there beside the bathroom, dressed in nothing but her shorts and tank-top. She had a sponge in one hand and balanced a mushroom-pie in the other. _

"_Choose," she said. _

"_Which one comes with you?"_

"_Both of 'em."_

"_You're very tempting tonight, lass. What if I'd rather go to bed?"_

"_That comes with me, too."_

_He figured it wouldn't hurt to try a bath. After all, eating dinner with your lover sitting naked on the table, ready for dessert, could get very messy, and Frodo was in no mood to clean up the kitchen. If taking a bath got water on the floor, well, then, Adelaide could clean that up. _

_She drew him into the bathroom and took off his coat. The refreshing scent of crushed lilac filled his nostrils, and steam from the bath rose before him in exotic curls. Frodo inhaled the scent of luxury as Adelaide stripped him down, piece by piece, being VERY careful not to touch anything…sensitive. He slid down naked into the tub of hot water, sighing happily, blissfully. He closed his eyes and leaned back. _

_He wasn't caught completely off guard when she applied soapy, bare hands to his body. The slick, warm feeling of her gliding, crafty fingers over his smooth chest, muscled arms and legs, belly, groin, balls and his stiff, hardened cock was positively the most delicious sensation he had ever experienced. He gave a drowsy smile. Oh, this was paradise, to be fondled like this, taken care of and loved with such tender devotion. Adelaide had all the fire and passion of a young woman in love, and she spared no expense to make Frodo smile the way he did now. She leaned over and kissed him on the lips, and he thrust his tongue up into her mouth, reaching up with one wet hand to cup her cheek and bring her down to him. Then, in a playful, aroused way, Frodo splashed her. _

_Holy Valar. _

_The wet, white tank-top clung to her body like a translucent Arabian veil, subtly hugging curves and barely covering breasts with puckered nipples. Her hair snaked over her shoulders like a Medusa's, and at first her eyes threatened to turn him into stone as she contemplated "wetness."_

"_You made me wet," she observed. _

"_Only on top?" he teased._

"_That's not fucking fair."_

"_Oh, honey, I'm sorry. But you do look good," he admitted, not really feeling sorry in the least. He thought her adorable with that "wet-puppy" look. Then he retracted his deed at once. Adelaide looked deviously cunning, and when she got that look in her eye, it meant either : (a) Trouble, or (b) Sexy Naughtiness that Defies Description. In this case, it meant Trouble._

"_I was going to suck your cock 'til it was purple, but now I shan't do anything of the like," she said loftily, tossing him the sponge. "You can bathe yourself, Mr. Two-Year-Old, if you're going to splash like that."_

_Ack! No! Frodo panicked. Adelaide smiled triumphantly, but he grabbed at her before she could leave, catching onto her wet hair. Adelaide slipped in the puddle of water below and fell, banging her jaw hard against the tub, and mashing her nose as well. Blood gushed, and Frodo instantly grabbed his towel, stuffing it up against Adelaide's nose._

"_Honey, are you alright? I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to cause you to fall like that…oh, honey, say you forgive me. I am sorry. Please, don't cry. Look, take off those wet things and get in here with me. You can do whatever you want, and I won't splash you. I'll even wash your hair for you, if you like. And afterwards we'll sit by the fire and have dinner, alright? Come, love, don't cry. I'm sorry. Forgive me. It was a stupid thing to do. I'm sorry."_

_

* * *

_

Meanwhile, Sam kept on looking at Gollum, who was curled up in a skinny ball and snoring away on a rock ledge. The wretch truly did look asleep, and his body heaved gently with the breathing one usually does in sleep. Plus, he was snoring. Literally, but quietly. Sam couldn't help thinking of his pitiful life. Poor guy. Nevertheless, he could have caused mischief, and Sam was not about to let him throttle anybody in their sleep. His own lids were about as heavy as anvils. He couldn't keep them open for…much…longer…

Sam dozed off.

As soon as the fat hobbit had zoned out, Gollum opened his eyes and lifted his head. The smile and snores disappeared, and a green glint of malicious hate burned in his eyes. Rising softly, he crept like a spider over to Sam and waved his hand in his face to make sure he was asleep.

Going over to the pack which the hobbits had carried, Gollum dug around until he had fished out a packet of lembas. It was the last pack the hobbits had. Unwrapping it, he sniffed at it, made a face, and the leaned over the precipice. Far below there stood the forbidding castle of Minas Morgul, shining with that strange green light. Taking a bit of the Elven bread in his hands, Gollum crumbled it up and crawled over to Sam. Leaning over the sleeping hobbit, he dropped the crumbs onto Sam's cloak. Then the creature leaned back out over the ledge, and with a carefree motion, tossed them overboard. The cakes fluttered from their wrappings and fell down, down, down…

Gollum chuckled in a sinister manner.

As he was crawling away, Sam woke up with a start. First thing he saw was Gollum, sneaking away.

"Hey you!" he cried. "What have you been up to, sneaking around like that?"

Gollum made a face of pathetic innocence and sarcastically began to whine.

"Sneaking? _Sneaking_? Hobbitses always so polite, oh yes, _gollum_! We takes them on secret ways that nobody else could find. Tired he is, thirsty, yes, _gollum, gollum_, and they say sneak…_sneak_! O nice hobbit, nice fat hobbit!"

Sam didn't feel any better, but he decided to apologize anyway for the harshness of his voice.

"I'm sorry," said roughly. "You just startled me, is all. And what have you been up to?"

"Sneaking," hissed Gollum, and the green glint in his eye did not leave.

"Oh fine, have it your own way," Sam snorted, and Gollum, pouting, turned away to go mope over by some rocks.

Sam bent gently over Frodo and shook him. "Wake up, Mr. Frodo!" he said. "Time for another start."

Frodo yawned and sat up. "What time is it?" he asked. "It's still dark."

"It's always dark around here," said Sam. "Not one spot of light, saving that spooky green light from the tower down there. What a trip we've made! How far up do you think we've gone?" He was rummaging around for some food, when suddenly his face dropped. "Mr. Frodo! The lembas! It's gone!"

"Gone?" Frodo gasped. "That was our last package! It was all we had left!"

"It's not here!" wailed Sam, and suddenly a thought came to mind. Looking up, he saw Gollum sitting on a rock, and rubbing his head thoughtfully, a look of my-goodness-I-wonder-what-could-have-happened-to-them on his face. Sam's face contorted.

"He took them!"

Gollum looked up.

Us? No, no," he chortled. "Smeagol doesn't eat nasty bread."

"You're a LIAR!" roared Sam. "What did you do with it?"

Frodo put out a hand.

'Sam, Sam, stop it!"

"He had to have taken it, Mr. Frodo!"

Frodo looked at Gollum, and his mind twisted. Gollum spoke the truth. He didn't eat the lembas bread…poor thing…he didn't like it…after all, he had given up his old side, he was now a friend to Frodo. He was akin to him, and they could touch and understand one another's minds. In the shadows of the stairs that were to come, the three of them faced each other…

"He doesn't eat the Elvish Bread," said Frodo, and looked hard at Sam.

_So now…he's going to go and accuse Sam? Ha! He's got no evidence—_

Gollum suddenly whistled, and _tsk-tsked_, wiping something from Sam's cloak.

"My, my! What's this? Crumbs on his jacket! For shame!"

_Or maybe he does._

"I've seen him!" continued Gollum. "He's always stuffing his fat face while poor master gets very thin, very hungry. He's a thief! He took it!"

Sam looked up, terrified, at Frodo. It was all becoming clear; Gollum wanted Frodo to dismiss him; he wanted Frodo to send Sam away so that he could do harm to Frodo…Sam's mind overheated, and his body reacted faster than his Gaffer could have ever said about his son.

"THAT'S A DIRTY, FILTHY LIE!" Sam roared, and pounced on Gollum like a cat on a mouse. He tore Gollum from his perch and threw him violently onto the ground. Gollum, in sudden fear, scrambled backwards, but Sam caught him and began to throw out some pretty good, solid punches, beating the lean creature with all his might and hatred. A red flame was in his eye—suddenly, the little gardener of the Shire was a boxing maniac!

Frodo screamed and flew to Gollum's rescue. He tore at Sam's arms and cried out, pleaded with him to stop. But suddenly, Frodo went stiff, and he clutched at his chest. His eyes rolled back, and he gave a choking cry. Sam caught his master as he fell. He leaned him up against a rock, panting.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry…I didn't mean for it to go so far! Just…just rest a while, and you'll feel better…"

"I'm alright," Frodo gasped, but Sam shook his head.

"No you're not…you're exhausted. It's that Gollum! Mr. Frodo, I wish there was something I could do…if there was any way I could perhaps carry it for a while, and take away the pain…"

Frodo's eyes glazed, and suddenly Sam's face twisted into a savage thing, begging for the Ring…he wanted it for himself! He only wanted it for himself; he wanted to take the precious Ring away from him…!

"…share the load…"

Frodo's head spun, and his face contorted again. The burden was crushing; the weight of it was unlike anything he had ever known, but what did it matter? He had his precious, and it was his task, his and his alone, his precious task…carrying a precious thing…

"_NO_!" screamed Frodo, and pushed Sam roughly away, scrambling back from him. Sam looked in shock and horror on his master.

"I don't want to keep it!"

Gollum sneaked up beside Frodo. "See? I told you so," he gloated. "I told master he would ask for it. He wants it. He wants it for himself."

Frodo's eyes were wide, and a fear for his precious was beginning to gnaw at his heart and soul.

_She reached out, tried to connect, tried to be with her loved one, but the cold stiffness of his body was more than she could bear, and she stayed at a distance. She could sense now that she was being thrust away in favor of something else, as the Ring took control of Frodo's mind, and it hurt her, hurt her deeply. She did not want to stay any longer. But she waited, hoping for a small sign of some sort. She felt cut off, abandoned, and afraid. _

"That's a lie!" Sam cried. "You miserable trickster, I'll stove your head in! Go on, get out of here! Go on! Get!" He tore at Gollum again, but the wretch screamed and hid behind his new protector…Frodo Baggins grasped Sam with a hand of steel and wrenched him backwards. Sam fell down panting. The exertion, sweat, and toil was showing on his every limb. Sam's eyes were lined with tears.

"I'm so sorry," he pleaded. "It's that Gollum!"

Frodo turned to him, and now there was a new light in his eye that was terrible to behold, like a tall, stern master suddenly finding a truth and becoming as hard as granite against the liar. Sam recoiled from this glare, his eyes wide in fear, but Frodo stepped back, as if Sam were a filthy dog in his way.

"No," he said softly. "It's you, Sam."

Sam couldn't believe his ears. "Mr. Frodo…how can you say that? Don't you see? He's turned you against me! He's poisoned your mind against me!"

Frodo shook his head and kept on staring at Sam.

"I'm sorry, Sam."

Gollum came up behind him and grinned wickedly at Sam. Frodo opened his mouth, and his words were harsh.

"Go home."

"But Mr. Frodo…you don't meant that!"

"Go home, Sam."

Sam's body shook, and suddenly his face scrunched up and he began to cry. Sitting down upon the stairs, he curled up into a tight little ball and put his hands up to his eyes, crying hard. To have come so far, and now to be turned away…

Frodo walked along up the stairway. Gollum followed.

Sam began to walk back down, obedient to Frodo anyway.

* * *

Adelaide snapped out of the reverie. In her cold little cell beneath the city of Minas Tirith, she felt hopelessly lost. She felt as though it was herself that Frodo had told to go home, and not Sam. The Ring was between lovers as it was between friends, and now Adelaide wished with all her might that she'd been smarter to stay in Rivendell, where maybe she could have learned something useful, like Elvish, instead of gallivanting off with the Fellowship to ride horses, get captured by sulky wizards, and wield a sword—which, technically, she hadn't exactly done yet. But that was the one good thing about her situation. In Rivendell, and feeling the way she did now, twenty-three-year-old Adelaide might have been driven out of her mind because of the constant closeting of those emotions and feelings. But here, within the activity of interaction, she had a chance to leave those emotions and feelings behind, pick her ass off the ground (stop feeling sorry for yourself, bitch!) and make herself useful.

And she had a pretty good idea of what she wanted to do first.


	12. Who You Are

Chapter 12:

Who You Are

**A-hem. I ran across another "Adelaide" out there in the fanfiction world, and it occurred to me that, even though my story ain't copyrighted, I might want to say that if anyone would like to use my OC for any of their fanfictions, do ask me first. I don't think this particular "Adelaide" was my OC, but I just thought I'd put the general knowledge out there.**

**This part of the book is based on a serious real-life situation I had. Let me tell you ladies who read this—it is not easy to be in a long-distance relationship and realize that you have a chance to be adored by another cute guy. But gut instinct and conscience and deep love and devotion really take over when the situation looks grim. And I'll swear on a stack of bibles that God really does intervene and help us out.**

* * *

"There," Eowyn put the finishing touches on her project, which happened to be Merry. The little hobbit was garbed now in the livery of Rohan, which Eowyn had specifically prepared for him. As she fitted the little helmet over his head, Merry grinned and felt excitement course through his body. His lady, Eowyn, stood before him like a brooding, clucking mother, smiling satisfactorily on the results of her hard labor. "A true esquire of his majesty of Rohan!"

"I'm ready!" Merry responded, jerking out the sword, nearly hitting Eowyn with it. She laughed and put up her hands, warding him off.

"Careful!"

"Sorry," he blushed. "It's a bit new…and it isn't even sharp!" he felt the blunt tip, and Eowyn suppressed her laughter.

"Well, that's no good. You won't kill many orcs with a blunt blade! We'll have to fix that! Come with me!"

She led him out of the tent, and Merry did some fancy moves, imagining an orc before him while he cleanly gutted it. Eowyn laughed, pleased with him.

"To the smithy; go!" she prodded him along and then watched as he bounded away, full of energy.

Eomer sat upon a bench near a campfire with Gamling and some of his other friends, eating dinner. At seeing the little hobbit running around with (gasp-and-the-Lord-forbid) a sword, he turned to his sister, who was smiling brightly in the campfire-light, and he grimly shook his head.

"You should not encourage him," he said. Eowyn stared down at hr brother. Not encourage Merry? What a dumb suggestion. He was like a fiber of life to the camp; he was no child, and yet at his age he was jolly, and…well, merry. And he was excited to go to war, to help his friend.

"And you should not doubt him," she said coldly.

"I do not doubt his heart," Eomer said. "Only the reach of his arm."

Gamling snorted.

Eowyn looked with scorn upon the men. If she wasn't so dignified, she'd up and slap them both for being so horrid and nasty about the situation. But the White Lady had more sense, and crossed both her arms.

"And why should Merry stay behind, when he has just as much cause to go to war as you?" she snapped. "Why can he not go and fight for those he loves?"

Eomer watched her as she turned to walk back to the tent. He had already known, long ago, that Eowyn was head-over-heels in love with the ranger-guy, and he did not think that her choice was bad. Could have been worse. It was because of Aragorn that she smiled and had life in her, the most he had seen for a long time since the Grima-infested years. She had something to live for, in Aragorn. But he sensed no rebound on the play in Aragorn. The man loved another, that much was certain, and whoever she was, she was getting a hell of a bargain. The ranger was meant to be friends with Thengol's daughter, nothing more. And Eowyn just couldn't see that. Now she was giving all hints that she'd ride into battle beside Aragorn, risking death. Eomer wished that girls would be a little more prudent. When it came to hearts, men were practical; women were mush.

"You know as little of war as that hobbit," he said, trying to instruct her a little. "When the fear takes him, and the blood and the screams and the horror of battle take hold, do you think he would stand and fight? He would flee. And he would be right to do so."

Eowyn held her brother's gaze, daring him to say more. She was not fazed in the least by this fancy show of words, nor was she afraid of the images he was conjuring up for her.

"War is the province of men, Eowyn."

She glared at him. Well, that had sincerely done it. He was in trouble now. There was nothing like fuel to the fire than to tell a tomboy that war was the province of men. He might as well have told her to stay out of the cool water on a burning-hot day. Eowyn's eyes burned with a fierce resolve, and she gave her brother a final parting glare that clearly told him, "You are the world's biggest jackass."

* * *

Meanwhile, Adelaide appeared back on the scene, and this time, she was not a happy camper. Any woman who feels unloved by her boyfriend is going to be seriously mentally unstable, and that is precisely what Adelaide was. She felt abandoned by all her friends: Eowyn was PO'd at her for some reason yet unknown; Aragorn and Eomer didn't want her around; Gandalf was no help whatsoever; and everyone else was ignoring her—which she could understand, to a certain point. Life did not revolve around A.E.G. Edessa. But she certainly felt left out of the loop. And now, on top of all this, she felt as though Frodo had completely forgotten her—which was not altogether true. But it hurt. And Adelaide kind of had a low tolerance for emotional pain. She hadn't felt so much since her breakup with Adelard. Her hypersensitive imagination now freaked out that she was once again undergoing a painful, heart-breaking break-up.

And just running around an encampment to be of service was not helping.

That's when she turned a corner and ran smack into Legolas.

The Elf instinctively grabbed her and stared at her in shock; she returned his wide eyes with saucers of her own, and her jaw hit the floor.

"My LADY! Good heavens, by all the Valar, what in Middle Earth are you doing here? Does Aragorn know you are here?"

"N-n-no, and I'd appreciate it if you kept that knowledge on the D-L—"

"Adelaide, where have you been? What is happening in Minas Tirith? We saw the beacons, but Theoden remarked that it must have been by Gandalf's choice, and not the Lord Denethor's…Theoden known Denethor well, or so he says. What news have you? Come, sit, let us talk."

Adelaide sat down beside Legolas and just babbled everything that had happened. When she blurted out that she was in the middle of a running dream, Legolas looked impressed.

"You've learned to control your imagination? Lady, that is power indeed. What say you conjure up a few more thousand troops? Aragorn might forgive you."

She laughed—a sound strange to her ears in this place of (almost) all men. The hurt and pain in her heart vanished like smoke. Here was someone who cared, and someone who still loved her and wanted her around. Adelaide grabbed at that hook like Jaws, and fell into Legolas arms in a huge, fond embrace. She wanted, needed, had to be loved. She wanted to feel adored and wanted and cared about. She did not know what was happening, or why it was happening. All she knew was that she was lonely, her heart ached, and she needed someone…she needed to be loved.

Legolas held her, aware now not of any passionate fireworks, but only of wanting to help and comfort this young woman. He was surprised and amazed at how alive her body was, despite the fact that she was dreaming. He had ached for such a long time to hold her like this, and had dreamed of such a voluntary leap into his arms, but that this should actually happen in reality…something did not feel right to the Elf. Nonetheless, that was quickly shoved aside when she tilted her head up at him with pleading in her eyes…and Legolas let go of all thought. He needed none. His beloved was here, in his arms, willingly, by a tent at night, and he had nothing else to do. The Elf was on fire. Holding her seemed so right and delicious, but he wanted more, oh so much more…

"Lady, lady," he breathed. "Have I not said that there are things about you that could make a man—yes, even an Elf—die of love for you? Have I not longed to hold you and bestow my love upon you—Oh my lady, sweet lady, if you love me, do not spurn me but hold me close and never, ever let me go! Tell me the truth my love. Show me this love you bear for me, and I would return it. Battle or no, I would love you, my lady, tonight."

Adelaide's heart pounded. By God, sex had never sounded so incredibly amazing.

He stood, and offered her his hand, which she took, without hesitation. They quickly dodged through the tents until safely out of peepers' range. Legolas halted near the side of one tent; on the other side, there was merely another tent; no one could see them. In a sudden burst of passion, Legolas pulled Adelaide to him and kissed her.

Time stopped.

How does one describe the kiss of an Elf? Adelaide later described it as "definitive fireworks," although Legolas later teased her that it was "heaven between lips." ("I don't understand what the fuck that's supposed to mean, you idiot Elf, but whatever."). She did not hold back, but rather wrapped her arms about him as he came at her again, rose-colored lips pressing against hers. Then a warm, clever wet tongue pushed inside her mouth. Ho-ly SHIT. That felt so good, so damn good after what seemed like years of abstinence. She felt herself weaken, and she pressed closer. He held her. His mouth was warm, exotic, and held an exquisite flavor that she could not decipher. She tried to delve a bit deeper, and ran her tongue over her teeth and under his tongue. The inside of his mouth was so smooth and warm; she felt safe there, as if she could stay there forever.

"A-HEM!"

They broke apart. Gimli stood there, looking somewhere between downright peeved and downright embarrassed. "If you're not too busy," he addressed Legolas. "You might consider coming and helping Aragorn and I with a few things. There are swords and armor to be cleaned, weapons to sharpen, and you need more arrows than what you've got, laddie."

Legolas gripped Adelaide very harshly. "Gimli, not now!" he cried. "I _am_ busy. Tell Aragorn that I…I cannot come—"

"That's no good, laddie. Aragorn needs a sufficient answer."

"We're apologizing for our rude behavior," Adelaide said quickly. "We, uh…yeah."

Gimli raised an eyebrow. "You're apologizing?" he asked. "It doesn't look like that to me!"

"GIMLI!"

"Oh, alright," huffed the dwarf. "But if you want to know my opinion, I think you two ought to just give it up for tonight. We've a battle tomorrow! And does Aragorn—"

"NO, ARAGORN DOES NOT KNOW THAT I AM HERE AND HE IS NOT SUPPOSED TO KNOW. TELL HIM THAT LEGOLAS IS BUSY COLLECTING ARROWS. NOW FUCK OFF, DWARF."

Gimli stomped off angrily. Legolas looked down at Adelaide in surprise. "We could just leave you at the doorstep of Mordor," he suggested. "If your vocabulary does not frighten the orcs away, perhaps that forward manner of yours will." The Elf pulled her to him and kissed her again. No beer needed for this episode. Legolas was on cloud-9. Adelaide, however, was starting to feel sick in her stomach again. Thank God for that intervention of Gimli; he had suddenly reminded her, all at once, who she was.

_Who you are_.

Adelaide blinked.

She recalled Rivendell, and then at night, with Aragorn.

_You must remain true. Only one will be the catch of a lifetime…tell me, Adelaide, who do you think you are?_

_I cannot bounce. I cannot_…Adelaide felt her stomach twist in anxiety.

RED ALERT! RED ALERT! VIRGIN IN DEMAND! PUT ON THOSE "NO-ENTRY" SIGNS, LADIES! FRODO GETS DIBS, YOU NUT-CASE!

Adelaide blinked again. Her entire body screamed to go to him, to be fulfilled and loved; she was responding emotionally and physically at the same time, and the overwhelming wave of passion frightened her. She had been denied this for so long, being apart from Frodo, and now with all doors wide open, she felt herself hanging free—but not yet. Her body could not forget Frodo. Neither could her mind. She had given something to Frodo, and she had permitted him certain pleasures she could never give another. Frodo had stabbed her with his words, but he hadn't fully struck so as to sever the connection between them. Adelaide felt as if she were caught between two massive forces. But she knew what she would answer.

"Legolas, I think…I think I need to explain something—"

"Oh? You are a virgin, perhaps?"

"Uh…well, yes, but that's not what I—"

"You've never lain with a…man?" Or the hobbit?

"Don't be a ditz. I've never had sex in my life. But—"

"You wonder what it will be like with an Elf?"

"No! Damn it, will you shut up for a minute, and listen? Look, if you…if you really, honestly, truly love me, you'll stay friends with me, and you won't take me."

Legolas reeled back as if she'd slammed her fist into his face. "WHAT?"

"I know I'm a cock-tease and a damned flirt, but it's never too late to stop, and I'm going to stop before I make the biggest mistake of my fucking life. I kissed you…you kissed me…and I let you…and now I feel like throwing up. Legolas, I love Frodo…I always have and I always will…don't look at me like that! I can't help it. I want you, want someone to love me right now, but I'd only be using you, and it isn't fair to you, not after I've come to be so fond of you…"

Legolas stared at her for a moment, as if unable to comprehend what she had just said. Adelaide babbled out some more nonsense, trying to smooth over the situation.

"Don't take me, Legolas. I'm not for you, you know I'm not. I've given myself to someone else, and I can't take back the gift. I love you to pieces, and I want to make love with you like crazy, but if you value me...if you treasure me...you won't take me. I can't do it, can't you see that? I can't. Forgive me, please, forgive me! Don't be mad at me, I don't think I could stand that…"

Legolas caught her passionately. "If you dare say such a thing to me, lady, know that I have the deepest respect for your honor. If you do not desire me in the way of lovemaking, then perhaps I might be able to persuade you through different routes."

"No, no, for God's sake, no!" Adelaide broke out of his embrace. "I've fucked up once tonight…oh God, I should never have kissed you, should never have done that…I can't, I can't…my stomach…I feel like I'm going to throw up. I can't betray my lover. I can't do it."

"By Illuvatar, you're a tease!"

The words hit her, but she was paralyzed to them.

"Lady, what in hell's name do you think to play at? Do you not need me? I would accept even a kiss from your willing lips and body, but now, after you have given me hope, you douse me in ice-cold water. Is THAT fair?"

"No, no, it's not…look, I'm trying to explain…I made a mistake, it's not you, it's me, I've been struggling with this for a long time, and I gave in, and now I feel sick to my stomach because my conscience is racking me with guilt right now…don't be mean to me, please, forgive me!"

Legolas didn't hear her. To be fair, she HAD pulled an idiotic stunt, and such a one that is NEVER to be done around guys like Legolas. He was hot, horny, and ready to go, and now, all of a sudden, it was as if she'd kneed him once again in the balls. But he was still hard as a rock, and she hadn't kneed his jewels, and she was still babbling about forgiveness. Legolas grabbed her in a fierce embrace, much fiercer than several nights ago at Edoras, and, with one hand, ripped her gown from bodice to groin. Adelaide shrieked, but he covered her lips with his own, stifling her scream and groping with one hand at her breast. She tried to fight, tried to shove him away, but he was…not…going…anywhere. Adelaide's mind flickered. This was it. She was going to get raped because, once again, Little Miss Idiot 2010 had fucked up. Oh, when was she ever going to LEARN?

* * *

Meanwhile, Aragorn was having nightmares.

A twisted view of Rivendell haunted him, its flowers were faded, and leaves scattered the courtyard. There was no music and light or laughter as once there had been; now it was empty and deserted, and the air was chilly. The sun was fading slowly, and in his dream he saw Arwen Undomiel upon a couch, lying almost unconscious. The color had gone from her cheeks and lips; her breathing was shallow, and she seemed to be utterly lifeless. Aragorn writhed violently in his sleep, wanting to do something and yet unable to do anything because he was so far away. And then his beloved's voice came to him, breathless and voiced in a whisper…

_I wish I could have seen him…one last time…_

The Evenstar broke from his neck and crashed into a thousand shards upon the floor. In an instant, the man awoke, blade in hand, an oath sworn from the tip of his tongue, eyes wide in fury and despair. A noise caused him to look up, and there was a soldier of Rohan, bareheaded and looking apologetic.

"My pardon, my lord. King Theoden would like to see you in his tent."

Aragorn groaned and sheathed his knife. Theoden was standing over a seated figure, wrapped in a black cloak and covered with a velvet hood as black as night. Theoden looked confused, but nonetheless very respectful, even as he looked at Aragorn and nodded shortly.

"I take my leave," he said coolly, and exited the tent. Aragorn stared at the velvet-cloaked figure. Then he gasped, as the figure stood, turned to him, and revealed his face.

"My lord Elrond!"

The Elf Lord from Rivendell was back.

"I come on behalf of one whom I love," he said shortly, the words almost as if they'd been dragged from him. "Arwen is dying."

The news was not so much of a shock to Aragorn as he thought it would be, but he felt fear enter his heart, nonetheless, and his eyes betrayed his worry and fright. He suddenly felt useless and helpless, standing there, far from her, without title, riches, or healing powers to make her come back. Elrond, however, was no dummy, and sensed this right off the bat.

"As the forces of Mordor grow, her strength lessens," the unhappy father said. "She cannot long endure the evil that now spreads from that accursed land. Arwen's fate is tied up in the Ring."

Aragorn had a sudden thought of sprinting off to Mordor, overtaking Frodo, and completing the job in ten minutes flat.

"The Shadow is upon us," Elrond breathed. "The end has come."

"It will not be our end, but his," Aragorn said nobly, trying to convince himself of the same words.

Elrond shook his head sadly, a small smile playing on his lips. "You ride to war, but not to victory!" he said. "Sauron's armies attack Minas Tirith as you know, but sends a fleet from the river. A fleet of corsairs sails from the South. They will be here in two days. You're outnumbered, Aragorn. You need more men."

"There are none," Aragorn argued helplessly, really feeling as though he should have taken the Ring and finished the job three weeks ago. But Elrond's face betrayed him.

"There are those…who live in the mountains," he said softly, and Aragorn blanched, seeing a vision of a rotted face, grinning, with pinpoints of light in the eye sockets. The wind blew the tent noisily as if to accent this. Aragorn shook his head.

"Traitors!" he whispered. "Vagabonds, disloyal…thieves, murderers…they answer to no one!"

"They will answer to the King of Gondor!" Elrond said, almost impatiently, and then, as if to make his meaning clear, he brought forth from underneath his robes a sword, bound in strips of leather, the hilt looking mighty familiar. Aragorn had seen that little baby before, and had always itched to get his hands on it. A man could never have enough swords, but this was a treasure, and not just for any man.

"Anduril, the Flame of the West, forged from the shards of Narsil!" Elrond said eagerly, offering the sword to Aragorn. "Take it up once again."

Aragorn took the sword almost reverently, hesitating only a moment in respect, wondering what it would feel like to hold the sword that once his ancestor Isildur held. Aragorn suddenly smiled, hope resurrected once more. "Sauron will not have forgotten the Blade that was Broken!" he said in triumph.

"The man who holds this sword has the power to summon an army greater than the forces of Mordor themselves!" Elrond exclaimed. He looked long and carefully at the man who wanted to wed his daughter. For a minute, he could actually see him as a son-in-law, and for a minute, he was proud to know that at least his daughter loved Aragorn, and not some other mortal idiot who made pots or something. Their lineage was pure, and Aragorn's was one destined for greatness. Perhaps it made sense, after all, that his daughter should wed this man. Aragorn no longer seemed like an unwashed, heathen Ranger. He seemed noble, powerful, as a king of old. Still, there was something to be said of Old Spice, and a decent bath.

"Put aside the Ranger," he said firmly. "Become who you were meant to be. _Onen i-Estel Edain_," Elrond said gently, breaking into his thoughts with the words his mother had said, long ago. Aragorn's mother, I mean. "I gave hope to the Dunedain—"

"_U-chebin estel anim_," Aragorn finished it. "I have kept none for myself."

Situation resolved.

* * *

Aragorn was packing up Brego when Eowyn hurried over, startled by what she was seeing.

"You are leaving?" she asked, horrified. "Why are you doing this? You cannot leave now! The war lies to the east; you cannot leave on the eve of battle!"

_Don't leave me; don't leave, Aragorn, dear, dear Aragorn, whom I love so much, oh please don't…_

"Eowyn…I go where I must," Aragorn told her simply.

"The men have found their captain, they will follow you to battle," Eowyn begged. "Please, do not leave; it is unseemly, and will set a bad example—you cannot abandon the men."

Aragorn sighed. The time had come at last for realities to be faced. He knew Eowyn was in love with him; knew she had an infatuation for him, and realized too, that her love was at once flattering and childish. She was a beautiful maiden, strong in willpower and remarkably intelligent, a girl that any man would die for. She was a rare lily among the maidens, and Aragorn would never admit it, but he liked her spunk. She was a girl he could get along with as a friend. Very much like Adelaide. Except that Adelaide wasn't head-over-heels in love with him, which made the situation easier. This, however, was something a bit different. And the time had clearly come for the both of them to have that awkward moment of…oh, just get it over with.

"We need you here," she started again, using a woman's powers of feminine allure and kitty-cat pleading to win the cause. But Aragorn seemed very distant.

"Why have you come?" he sighed, trying to get her to open up first. Eowyn's eyes were dazzlingly childish, opened wonderingly as if in awe of being so close to him at this moment. From her standpoint, it was her turn to admit her love, and finally, he would admit his feelings of deepest attraction for her as well!

"Do you not know?" she asked softly, trying to catch his eyes and look deeply into them. After all, heroines always got their man in that manner. But Aragorn's reaction surprised and shocked her. She could not catch his eye; rather, he caught hers, like a teacher gently correcting a student for an unintentional wrongdoing.

"It is but a shadow you love," he said quietly. "I cannot give you what you seek."

The words hit her like a forty-pound anvil, right away, and Eowyn felt herself freeze up from her toes to the roots of her hair in genuine horror and pain. She blinked, confused, and tried to think of something to say to that, like a well-what-do-you-think-I'm-seeking-Mr.-Know-It-All? But she could not form the words; instead, she backed away from him as if he were a vile plague. His stare burned into her, though it was so soft and really full of genuine pain and regret. He tried to make it seem as though he was truly sorry, and he was, but women were so emotional, and if he didn't make it look as though his heart were breaking too, she might bawl on him.

Tears were indeed filling the young lady's eyes as his meaning sunk deeper and deeper into her head and heart. Aragorn felt pity for her. Grima Wormtongue had been the first admirer of the girl, and she received very little real adoration from a real man. But indeed, she was chasing a dream, someone from on high that she desperately loved, but did not know. He was flattered to death, folks, don't misunderstand him, but he just couldn't give her what she was looking for. What was she looking for? Someone real, earthly, who wouldn't speak in riddles, and who was young, ready for the blossom of first love and (insert tiger growl) intimacy. Aragorn was just a tired, grumpy man who just wanted to be at peace with Arwen. For him, she embodied all that a woman should be, in feminine grace, love, and power. For him, she was everything. Eowyn was just a friend. And she couldn't get that through her head. But for now, he pitied her.

Aragorn kind of forgot that Eowyn hated pity.

"I have wished you joy since first I saw you," he said sorrowfully, trying to help matters. It only made them worse. Eowyn's tears overflowed, when she heard that, and when the man touched her cheek gently in blessing, it was all she could do to keep from jumping on him (or someone) and screaming the camp down. Here was what she was going to miss, and the most they'd ever do in touching was a handshake. That was something Eowyn did not enjoy brooding over.

Aragorn felt it high time to leave.


	13. Jams!

Chapter 13

Jams!

**Now the story is really going to get messy! I apologize for delays. This chapter was equally difficult to write because as I mentioned earlier, I changed a LOT of stuff from my old version, to upgrade and edit and fix so that it's more…well, more of a good read. I figured that Adelaide needed to be in a pretty damn bad jam—and IT'S ALL HER FAULT. Well, sort of. You know how in life we get ourselves into various deep waters and we feel we can never pick ourselves back up, but somehow someone is always there to tell us to quit crying and JUST DO IT? This is one of those moments. Granted, Adelaide's a bit hysterical in this part, and a lot of emotions pour forth—but then again, emotions are running high in this chapter; in fact, emotions are what move a lot of people to do what they do…ack, now I'm rambling. So sorry. Anyway, enjoy!**

**BTW-(1) I know Tolkien didn't use a pen from Wal-Mart. But I thought the phrase was funny. (2) I HAVE been to Italy and seen the catacombs. Very cool-and musty. (3) I don't like to offend spider-lovers out there; they are very fascinating creatures, and I will be the first to admit it. But they still scare the hell out of me.**

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* * *

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Adelaide had finally managed to wriggle one hand free, and was grabbing at Legolas' face, trying to rip one pointed ear out, or come away from the fight with at least a fistful of golden hair. The Elf didn't even flinch. His hand snaked down from her breast into the ripped V of her gown, to touch the Hanes-Her-Way, pull the cloth aside, and thrust upward with a smooth, gliding finger. Adelaide wished nastily she could have been dry as a bone. Unfortunately, moments ago, she'd been wetter than the Pacific Ocean. She felt salt-tears course down her cheeks, but she was not the one crying.

_He's upset as I am_, she thought. _He loves me and has always loved me, and all this time I've teased him to distraction. I've probably hurt him worse than I ever did when verbally slamming his face into a wall_. She relaxed, and, to her surprise, Legolas withdrew his hand. He looked down at her, and she did not cry out. She blinked once, twice, rapidly, breathing hard. Then, again—but this time O! so gently!—Legolas bent down and kissed her once more, this time very tenderly and regretfully. Adelaide stood very still, wrapped in his arms, her dress practically falling off her.

—And that's when Eowyn burst in on the scene.

Legolas and Adelaide sprang backwards from each other as if a fire had sprung up between them. Adelaide was a complete disaster; her hair was a wreck; her gown was torn; and she had bruises and love-bites all around her cheeks, lips, and throat. Eowyn stared at the two of them, horrified and scandalized. Her stomach churned, and she wished that she could run. The image burned in her mind, and she felt rooted to the spot.

_Shoot me now_.

Adelaide looked quickly at Legolas, sending him an instant message to get the hell out of there. The Elf started to say something, but Adelaide shook her head and pleaded with her eyes—well, not so much as a plea but rather a if-you-don't-get-the-fuck-out-of-here-I'll-kill-you look. She would talk with her friend—if Eowyn was even that anymore. Legolas cleared the scene, and Adelaide was left alone with Eowyn. She licked her lips quickly—how quickly they had dried!—and hastily covered herself. Good God.

"He won't have me," Eowyn said stiffly. Adelaide blinked. That was a weird thing to say, considering all circumstances.

"Wha…what?"

"He won't have me." Eowyn's voice sounded like a robot's. Adelaide did not move. She wasn't sure who "he" was.

"What…what are you talking about? What happened?"

Eowyn's lips moved; the rest of her seemed paralyzed. "I told him. I told him I care. I told him that I loved him, and was ready—nay, willing—to die for him. What did he do? He scorned me. Scorned me as though I were…of no worth. Lowly. Dirty. Not fit to be his wife, nor any man's. I could kill myself, oh Eru, I could kill myself!"

Adelaide took a hesitant step forward and reached out towards her friend, but Eowyn turned on her viciously.

"Don't you touch me!" she hissed. "Don't you touch me, you…you…you lied to me! You told me I would marry him! You told me…you told me…you said I could hope! Well, where's the hope now, you…you dare, you dare stand there like you do now…!"

"Eowyn, it's not my fault Aragorn doesn't love you like that! He's a turnip-brain for telling it to your face, but—"

"Don't you insult him!" Eowyn cried. "Not your fault? Nothing's ever your fault, is it? Oh, no, nothing's ever Adelaide's fault. You could get hauled off to Isenguard and have a chance to heroically prove your worth, but that wasn't your fault. You can have dreams and visit other places and barge in on other folks' lives, but that isn't your fault. You know all about us, our past, present, and future, and you say nothing, nothing at all…that isn't your fault. I suppose you'll tell me now that this liaison with the Elf isn't your fault, either!"

"Eowyn, for God's sake, it's not what it looked like—"

"It seemed apparent to me," came the slap in the face.

"He was trying to rape me, damn it all!"

"Oh, and you struggled so hard to escape him, did you not?"

Adelaide wished she could melt into the ground. Of all the situations to be caught in, of all the horrible times to be caught, of all the damn people in the world to be seen with…and Eowyn didn't know, did not know what was happening with her friend, that she thought herself abandoned and lonely, so she reached out and touched the Elf and withdrew her hand only to be bitten, and then to realize, in a painful moment, the agony she had inflicted on him, all alone…to have that understanding and now to be punished for it! Death would feel like a kindness, but she had to live and endure the horrid stare of her best friend. Oh, shit.

"Look," Adelaide said desperately. "You're in an emotional rut right now because of Aragorn. But when you calm down, we'll talk about this. There's more to it than what you saw." Adelaide's gut churned in bitter agony and shame. Her face burned red in embarrassment. Eowyn's face was red, too, but not in embarrassment. She was furious and hurt, stabbed through the heart by betrayal and the shock of being told that she was not desired.

"I don't need to talk to you," Eowyn snapped. "You have no shame! How can I talk to a hypocrite such as yourself—you stand before me trying to comfort me with one hand and hold up your torn dress with the other. Don't talk to me about emotional ruts! Look to yourself! More to it than what I saw? I don't want to hear all your lurid tales…your descriptive victories over yet another lover. I don't need your stupid American 'advice,' as you call it…you are nothing but a shameful hussy! Is this the freedom you speak of? Freedom to service yourself as you see fit? When will you learn that we women of Middle Earth fall into our place as necessary—and not as we will it? You think you can come here and change our lives and stay the same as you always have—with your music and dancing and witty remarks—but you can rape our world, milk it for all it's worth to satisfy your own self!"

"Eowyn!" gasped Adelaide.

"And if you think," the young woman continued. "That you can sit there for one minute and try to convert me, you're very wrong! I'd rather be who I am and rejected by a great man…than a confused woman who whines and complains about being parted from her boyfriend while satisfying her pleasures with a lover like a stable whore!"

Adelaide didn't think. Her hand flashed out and she slapped Eowyn across the cheek.

Both maidens stared at each other in horror for a minute, Eowyn in pain, and Adelaide in astonishment over her own actions.

Then Eowyn gave a full-hearted sob and ran out of the tent, crying painfully. Adelaide sat there, feeling like the rottenest, stupidest idiot on the face of the planet. She had never, ever, in all her life in Middle Earth slapped her friend Eowyn. She had not done so because of the word "whore." God knows she deserved that title, and before long she'd fix it, by God, she'd fix everything. She had slapped Eowyn because the young woman had put her finger on a raw nerve: her inability to fully integrate herself into society. She would never become as Eowyn was because she had not been born into Middle Earth. She was an alien, a different species, it seemed. The racial slap of abuse slammed her harder than even the word "whore."

Adelaide had never felt so detached from her surroundings. To be fair to Eowyn, the young lady did not mean all that she had said. Both girls were feeling emotional strains and tugs and whiplashes, and these unfortunate misunderstandings would eventually and thankfully be smoothed out. But for now, they both said things that they did not mean. Eowyn, deep down inside, loved Adelaide as a sister, though jealousies often rose to the surface and displayed ugly faces. And Adelaide, deep down inside, wished she could be like her best friend, whom she thought fearless, beautiful, and truly natural, as only a woman can be. That raw nerve, to be touched, was like salt on an open wound.

She didn't belong in Middle Earth. She never did, and she never would.

Truth never hurt. It agonized.

* * *

Outside: Aragorn was tip-toeing through camp with Brego. But as he rounded a corner, Gimli suddenly appeared, smoking a pipe.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Aragorn sighed. The game was up. "Not this time, Gimli," he said. He had to do this alone. But someone approached from behind, and there was Legolas, his eyes dancing and slightly looking like he had come from a tussle.

"Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves?" he asked. Aragorn scratched his head. Well, maybe not.

"You may as well face it, laddie," said Gimli. "We're going with you."

"A-HEM!"

Adelaide stalked up to the remaining Fellowship. Aragorn's eyes widened.

"And what do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"I," Adelaide snapped. "Am having a running dream."

"What happened to your gown?"

"That's none of your fucking business. Nothing about me is any of your fucking business anymore 'cause guess what? I quit." She picked up a nearby sword and dropped it at Aragorn's feet. She undid her Elven cloak and dropped that at his feet, too. Then she spat on the whole pile and flipped the future King of Gondor off.

"I quit, you unsociable bastard!" she snapped. "I FUCKING WELL QUIT. I don't want to be a part of your stupid-ass Fellowship anymore!"

"Adelaide," Aragorn said heavily, ignoring the red rush of blood spreading through Legolas' face. "What in Eru's name are you talking about?"

"I just told you. I quit. You can forget my services, oaths, helping hand, everything! I'm not a part of your fucking Fellowship anymore. I don't want you to lead me around by my nose anymore, and I don't want to fight beside a bunch of Elves and dwarves and hobbits. I don't want to save your precious White City, and I don't give a flying fuck if you DO win this motherfucking war. Good! Fine! Wonderful! Amazing! Pat yourself on the back and give yourself a gold star! You get an A+ on your report-card, and you can take it in proudly to Elrond when you marry his daughter! Do you want to know something? I'll tell you something. You WILL win the war. There! I SAID THE MAGIC WORDS. The Walking Information Center is giving away FREE FUCKING BEER. Sauron can kiss my fucking ass and stick that information up his! THE WORLD OF MEN WILL WIN THE WAR. FRODO WILL DESTROY THE RING. Everything is going to be fucking fine. You'll marry Arwen and live 6-score years and have kids. It's all there in Tolkien's fucking appendixes. The man was a fucking genius, and you guys are nothing but the scrawl of his hand! That is precisely what I think of you! The lot of you are nothing but words from a Wal-Mart pen! Nothing but ink from a cheap writing instrument! I could turn out a saga even better using my Gateway, but you know what? It's all just WORDS. You're nothing but a figment of my STUPID IMAGINATION! AND I HATE EVERY SINGLE FUCKING ONE OF YOU! SO I QUIT. I AM NO LONGER A PART OF YOUR GODDAMMED FELLOWSHIP. I QUIT, I QUIT, I BLOODY DAMN WELL QUIT!"

She was out of breath.

Aragorn stared at her. Emotions passed over his face; Adelaide could not determine what, and she didn't care. She wanted to hurt them all, make them suffer a piece of her own suffering. Did they all think, as Eowyn did, that she was just in this world to take what she could out of it? That she held no love, no respect, no deep intimacy with ANYTHING or ANYBODY? Well, if that was the way it could be, fine! She quit.

Aragorn was very quiet. "Well? Why do you not simply walk away now, maiden?"

"You know why I can't. I'm bloody well fucking stuck here. That's been the issue all along, hasn't it? You knew that, didn't you? Adelaide Edessa is stuck in Middle Earth, so we'll bring her along on a Quest, and we'll do things together, but we won't really get her involved because she's an alien. She's not of our world. She's different. We'll hold her at arm's length."

"Now that," Aragorn said firmly. "Is hurtful. May I ask what caused such a…a…flood of disagreeable words?"

Adelaide opened her mouth and shut it. Her cheeks burned in heavy embarrassment. She'd meant every word, in a fit of passionate rage, but now she couldn't find the appropriate words to voice that rage. It had spent itself. She blinked.

"You hurt my friend," was all she could spit out before bursting into a flood of tears.

Aragorn wished that women were not so complex.

"I have no time to speak to you about Eowyn," he said, a little roughly. "If you must know, few things in this world hold so much pain for a man than the love of a beautiful woman which cannot be returned. And I think you knew this. Why must you come and torture me, maid? And why stand here and victimize yourself? You know that's a lot of nonsense. You are a part of our Fellowship, and have always been so, but if you've no longer the desire to take that responsibility upon yourself, you are free to do as you wish. Only, do not go to our Enemies. That alone would I ask. And since this is a running dream, I beg that you will have the decency to wake up. You are causing a scene."

"I'll do no such thing," Adelaide snapped. "I'll wake up when I want to. As for Eowyn, she's in a right state, and I don't blame her." It seemed ironic. She didn't blame Eowyn for getting so emotional, just as she could not blame Legolas for his actions, either. But getting caught between them had been very rough. Adelaide felt like a failure at that moment, and the only thing she could think of was to support her best friend, even after getting verbally slammed. "I spoke the truth. You did hurt her, and what am I supposed to do, like you for it? But she said some things that I wonder about and worry over, and so now I'm quitting. I don't take back anything of what I said. You and all the rest—even Eowyn—are only words in a book. I'm the only real thing here; it's why I've never felt at home. You say you don't have time for me. Go on! Go to your lovely little door under the mountain. Go see some ghosts. But by God, I'm not coming with you. Not because you order it—and I know you would!—but because I don't ever want to see your miserable, greasy-haired face again. I said that I quit, and I meant every word of it. I'm going to wake up and be in Minas Tirith. But not for long. I'll get out, one way or another, 'cause I can. I can control my imagination. I'm in control of myself in the world around me, and there is nothing you can do to rain on that parade."

Aragorn stared at her. "And where will you go, since America is not available?"

"I don't know. But it sure as hell will be nowhere near Rohan or Gondor…especially after you become King. I wouldn't participate in your dumb ol' reign if you paid me for it."

* * *

The midnight hour struck, and Adelaide vanished from their sight, waking up in her cell and huddling against the wall to cry again—the tears that had not come before now rushed down her cheeks like tributaries, leaving shiny streaks along her grimy face. She didn't know whether the stunt she'd just pulled was a wise one or not. But the one thought in her head was to fix everything that she had screwed up on. She had no desire to run back in time and do things over—what's done was done. But she would heal what needed healing.

"I'm no doctor," she grumbled. "But nobody else seems to be assisting. I guess I'll have to go it alone."

* * *

As Aragorn and his two companions passed through the walls of the mountains, and took the pass to the Door Under the Mountain, Gamling stared at them incredulously. Murmurs of astonishment and fear were heard by all the men as they wondered why Aragorn was leaving them now, before battle. It was well known of his heroic deeds in the Helm; was he being cowardly, or was there more to this than met the eye?

"He leaves because there is no hope," Gamling said despairingly, offering a suggestion to the general question.

"He leaves because he must," said Theoden, walking out among the men. "We cannot doubt the man who has done so much for us."

"Too few have come!" said Gamling. "We cannot defeat the armies of Mordor!"

Theoden stared at him and gave a slow smile. "No," he agreed. "You're right. We cannot."

The men exchanged swift looks of then-why-are-we-here-anyway? But Theoden's words gave them courage.

"But we will meet them in battle nonetheless!"

* * *

Gollum led Frodo up the stairs again, until they reached a little landing pad. For some time, Frodo had felt a clear sense of longing and missing for something, but he could not put his finger on it. There was no breeze now, only a deathly stillness in the air. He felt warm and uncomfortable, as if he had forgotten something. The pain in his head did not subside quickly, but rather stayed on with him until they reached…the tunnel.

Somewhere in the distance, John Williams started playing the _Jaws_ theme.

It was horribly dark, and stank of…well, Frodo couldn't put his finger on that either, but suddenly as he looked into the gloom and saw the winding neverland of rank darkness, he suddenly felt very afraid. Very, very afraid. Trembling like a little boy, he backed away from the tunnel's entrance.

"This is it," said Gollum. "The tunnel. Master must go through. Master must get into Mordor, so master must take the tunnel."

"Not in there…I don't think I want to go in there," said Frodo, frightened. He pulled back, his hand against his mouth. Already his lips were chapped with the lack of water, and the journey was revealing its effects in his torn clothing, matted hair, and dark eyes. His face was stained and streaked with dirt. But his eyes were still large and frightened, and he backed away. Gollum looked frantic, and then impatient.

"It…it's the only way!" he growled. "Master must go in…or go back."

"I cannot go back," Frodo said softly. Resolutely, he set a foot in the tunnel. Gollum scurried ahead of him, avoiding the touch of his Elven cloak.

The ground of the tunnel felt unnaturally odd. It was dirt, yes, but something else was on the floor. Frodo found himself bumping into soft and hard things, but those things had shape, and something could almost be said to be leaking from them. A sort of feathery substance was on the ground, and it was quite difficult to walk in the darkness. Frodo put a hand out, and then drew it back in as his hand touched a hanging growth. He could not decipher what exactly it was, but the smell, as they went deeper, was just awful.

"It smells terrible, Smeagol," gasped Frodo. "What's that smell?"

"Yes, it stinks of orc," said Gollum. "Orcses come in here sometimes."

The reek was unlike anything Frodo had ever smelled before. He could not decide what it was, though it grew worse with every step. The tunnel apparently branched off several different ways, but so far, Gollum led Frodo with accuracy. A sense of time and day were gone. Frodo could only rely on his sense of smell. And with every step, he gagged. At one point, he slipped, and as he clutched the wall for support, it was then that he noticed that the wall was covered with a nasty white substance…

He screamed.

"It's sticky!" he cried. "What is it?"

"You will see…yes, you will see."

Much like a spider's web…

"Smeagol?"

Suddenly, Frodo felt alone. Very, very alone. A numbing horror grew upon Frodo as he suddenly recalled past events.

Sam.

Gentle Sam he had sent away.

_And he sneered in the darkness, he Smeagol, who pried into every dark hole. And he came back to her, lurking in the darkness there, her great bloated body swollen and lusting for sweeter meat…perhaps a hobbit's soft flesh. He'd get the Precious back._

_

* * *

_

Adelaide felt a twinge in her bosom, and a tug at her mind, as if something had just pricked her in the skull. Frodo had suddenly and very frantically cried her name aloud in his mind, alongside of Sam's. But that felt impossible. He couldn't connect with her. She'd just given the entire world of Middle earth a cold shoulder. She'd spat on Galadriel's Elven cape and a sword of Rohan. She'd fired herself from the Fellowship. She was an alien, nothing to the world she lived in. Why the hell should anyone be calling on the telepathic phone of her mind?

Leastwise Frodo Baggins?

"If you're feeling sorry for yourself, I'd advise you to knock it off at once," Gandalf scolded. Adelaide sat up and covered her breasts. She stammered something in the way of an apology, but the wizard reached through the bars with his staff—

-and promptly zapped our heroine!

"OUCH! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?"

"For being an idiot!" Gandalf cried. "I cannot believe what I just saw, Adelaide Elspeth Edessa, I really cannot. Do you think you are the only one who may travel here and there within the mind's eye? I may do so also, but unfortunately my control is limited. I have not the wide expansion of talents as your mind does, and I am ashamed that you would sit there and sulk when there are things to be done!"

"Oh, go away!" Adelaide cried. "Nobody wants me here."

"If you say that again, I'll enchant you to baldness and warts," the wizard growled. "The only reason for my patience is because I know you are very emotionally upset right now. Both you and Eowyn have had broken hearts and strains that are shameful. But at least Eowyn executes her distaste with more bravado than you!"

"She was right, wasn't she? I'm an alien. I'm just here to take what I can until I can go home again. I'm not really in love with Middle Earth, ho-no, not at all. I've been alienated."

"You stupid girl, you've alienated yourself just by thinking such scandalous things! Listen! Eowyn has not alienated you. Pointed out a flaw in your character, yes, but alienate—no! And if I may say so, your flaw is not a constant thing. I know you love us and you love the world you live in now. Have you not seen, over the course of time, how much you would rather live here than in America? Your efforts to fix yourself and your ways endear you to us all. But sometimes you try too hard. You try too hard to be something you are not. You are not Middle-Earth-born. But you have the same spirit that flows in our veins because otherwise, how could Tolkien, a man of your world, have created us? We are not mere words on a paper. The same life that invigorates you invigorates us.

"So you made a dreadful mistake. You let Legolas kiss you. Yes, it is shameful, but that does not mean that you cannot pick up the pieces and begin afresh. I will forgive you, if that means anything. I forgive and absolve you, and beg you to reconsider your words to Aragorn. You hurt him because he loves you dearly and cannot understand why you are hurting inside. You must do your part to erase that hurt."

"I can't do it. I meant what I said."

"No, you didn't. You know you did not."

"Gandalf, what if Eowyn…what if she's right? She proved her statement; she caught Legolas kissing me. But she doesn't know…I felt sorry for him, Gandalf, because I had hurt him, and didn't want to hurt him anymore. I fucked up and didn't want to fuck up anymore and ended up fucking up anyways!"

"Listen to yourself. I've a good mind to come in there and beat you senseless. This is a time of war, and no one sits around feeling sorry for themselves. I shall not allow you to do it. You must be punished, after a fashion, for hurting the Elf and causing hurt to those around you, but the time for that is not now. You are a member of the Fellowship, whether by your choice or no, and now I say that you have no time to lose. Make haste now! I will send you some clean clothes and your sword, and you must dive into dreamland again. Rejoin Aragorn and apologize. You are a part of something bigger than yourself, and now you must set yourself aside for that bigger something."

Adelaide dried her eyes and stood. She felt empty, drained, and completely wasted, but Gandalf's words hit another chord.

"Do you want me here or not?" she asked.

"You would have my honest answer?"

"Give it to me straight, wizard-man. No riddling bullshit. I've about had it with dreams and sickness and emotional fuck and all the other shit thrown in to boot. If I'm a part of this world now, say so."

* * *

Frodo's face scrunched up as he realized the terrible mistake he had made.

Suddenly, his foot struck something, and Frodo looked down. There at his feet was the corpse of an orc, bones protruding from flesh sucked of innards. Panic struck him. He looked around. The light was clearing, and now he saw the hanging sacs…

Bilbo had told him of the adventure in Mirkwood forest. How the dwarves had been hung up in webbing by giant spiders. How he had almost become prey.

"Spiders," Adelaide had remarked once, in the garden, while kicking one of the 8-legged arachnids against a rock. "Are disgusting. They pounce on live insects, wrap 'em up, and turn all their innards into a liquid that they suck through hollow jaws. That leaves a skeleton, or a shell, or whatever. Ew! Frodo, there's another one! Don't just stand there; kill it!"

Frodo grasped his stomach and fled. Gollum or no, he'd find a way out, somehow. Somehow! It seemed impossible. He did not know where he was running, nor did he care. His mind was spinning, and his stomach was queasy, ready to vomit again at any moment. He ran past little gnats caught in webs that were the size of Bag End, and saw too, the birds and orcs and wolves caught up in the webs. He saw men and Elves too, decayed and rotting. This was the smell, the filth and the horror. Smeagol had led him here, he had meant to bring him here, the lying, nasty sneak…

Sam had been right. Sam had been so right. Why hadn't he listened? Why had he been so blind to that fact?

Frodo stumbled and fell. Panic overtook him again, and he scrambled backwards into what he felt was a safe hole. It was actually the decayed bones of a recent victim. Frodo scrambled, trying to get out of the webbing. It stuck all over him horribly, the stringy, matted gray stuff! Horror filled him, loathing mixed with anger at himself and a fear he had never known before. He hunkered down, and tried to gulp back the vomit that was broiling up inside his stomach. Again, his mind called out to Sam…and to Adelaide. He had never been so frightened in all his life.

* * *

Aragorn and his two companions stood at the entrance to the Door Under the Mountain. It led to a long, dark tunnel, and was decorated on either side with skulls.

Legolas read the doorway inscription. "The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is shut."

From inside, or perhaps from out, there came a whispering, and the leaves on the ground rustled. A wind blew from the inside, creating a suction-like force. A ghostly presence filled the air, something that was living, and yet dead. Rotting odors filled the air, and the whispers of the canyon grew silent. Echoes of a nameless fear settled on the company, but none of them departed.

"I do not fear the dead," said Aragorn, and in he strode. Legolas set out after him. Gimli was left.

"Here is a thing unheard of!" he gasped. "An Elf go underground…and a dwarf dare not…! Oh, I'd never hear the end of it." And Gimli, son of Gloin, plunged into the darkness.

* * *

Adelaide closed her eyes again and concentrated, but this time, since her will was not REALLY in the mood for Aragorn, her mind took her to the bottom of the Nameless Pass. Frodo was continuing to call her name in his head, reaching out and touching her brain with stimulant activity. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Adelaide could feel his fear and pain and anger and frustration and loneliness. He had never been like this before, not ever. A dispersion of fear and adrenaline pumped through her body. Why was she suddenly so afraid? What was going on? Her flesh crawled.

Samwise Gamgee lay at the foot of the stairs. He had taken a bad fall. Adelaide restrained herself from running over. She was almost afraid of being seen. She did not want Sam to accuse her of disloyalty. Her traitorous actions with Legolas burned in her mind. Yet she had to be near, to heal herself.

Adelaide looked up the stairs. Holy Cow, the thing looked worse than steps to the attic. But Frodo was somewhere up there. She needed to see him. She needed to know if he was okay; she wasn't going to leave him alone up there.

"I'm going," she said, gritting her teeth.

_You can't…you can't! The steps are too much for you, Adelaide, you'll slip and fall!_

"Me? The Alaskan, slip and fall? Nonsense."

_You'll never make it. Face it, your lover boy is done for. _

Adelaide didn't hesitate, but ran straight towards the stairs and began climbing. Sam, on the ground, did not see her. He was reaching out to grab a wad of lembas bread that lay smashed against the rocks in front of his face. Rage boiled up inside him and he imagined Gollum's neck there, as he squeezed the lembas until it was nothing but mush in his palm.

Adelaide, meanwhile, hadn't climbed a mountain for a while, and found herself a bit out of shape. But she struggled upwards, not daring to look down. When she finally made it to the top, she stopped in front of the tunnel, and her Tolkien history barreled back at her.

Oh, double-shit.

Adelaide hated spiders. And she was torn. She stood there for some time.

No, she couldn't do it. Spiders were horrible, nasty things, and she wasn't about to—

She felt cowardly. But there was no fucking way she was going to face down a very large spider. The small ones were bad enough.

* * *

Frodo's hand crept inside his shirt to calm his beating heart. There was something nasty about, something he could not imagine or fathom. Death reeked in this place; corpses sucked of life and juice lay still and silenced in their glittering white, sticky burial blankets. No coffin for them, no hearse or tombstone, but another death's head, and nature's own inscription of hatred and lust to fill a gluttonous belly. Frodo was suddenly very afraid of becoming like the others, like the sticky mass of bones strewn here in this foul hole. Lord only knew what lurked in here, and the heck he really wanted to find out.

His hand found something inside his shirt, and he pulled it out. The Phial of Galadriel! She had given it to him upon his parting from Lothlorien.

Something was creeping up behind the tiny hobbit.

Frodo took out the phial and looked at it. It was crystal-white in the dark horror of this underground night. Closing his eyes, he conjured up an image of Galadriel in his mind, the Elven Queen with her beautiful white hand outstretched…

"And to you, Ringbearer, I give the Light of Elendil, our most beloved star. May it be a light to you when all other lights go out."

Well, there was no time like the present.

Frodo felt a seed of courage bloom in him like never before, and he cried, "Aya Elendil acamiel!" His tongue was loosened with words he had often rehearsed with Bilbo, and his Elvish prayer to Elbereth came back to his memory like a silver bullet passing through a piece of paper. He jerked back from his hiding place and held up the phial. It sputtered and glowed until a very star seemed to have descended into the earth. Frodo almost forgot everything else, save for that beautiful light.

Suddenly, a hiss came to his ears, and Frodo felt a foreboding presence behind him. He turned, phial of light held aloft.

Who could possibly describe the creature better than Tolkien (and possibly Stephen King)?

Shelob reared up on her hind legs. She had dwelt a long time in the mountains, in her cave, becoming swollen and bloated on the juices of men, Elves, orcs, and whatever else happened to stray into the cave. Anyone who went in never came back out. She was fierce and terrifying, like a Medusa in a pagan temple. Her body, mottled purple and black, was thick and impenetrable. Her face was a mass of warts, tumors, and hairy, misshapen scars that criss-crossed in patches over her many, gassy eyes. She was armed with thick skin, four-fold fangs, and a stinger that dripped poison. Eight legs were fused to her body, and when she roared, she reared up, and the hobbit could distinctly see her pedipalps, salivating mouth, and horrid underbelly, from which rose a stench too awful to describe.

And she was about ten times Frodo's size.

For a second, the light dazzled Shelob's eyes, and the hobbit had a brief moment to take her countenance in. His eyes grew wide, and a chilling fear enveloped him. This was a trap; Gollum had led him here on purpose…

But the moment passed. Frodo turned to run, and as soon as the light faded, Shelob was after him like a cat after a mouse. She moved rather quickly for being so fat, but if any of you have every really seen a spider of any kind, they really do work out, and are thus very fast indeed. Besides, this was Shelob's territory, not Frodo's. She had many exits from her lair, and she knew them all.

Frodo was running, running, and he didn't know where. Shelob—that hideous thing on his tail—was chasing him, uttering guttural cries and hisses. Her legs were moving with speed and amazing grace for a spider, and Frodo was finding that it was incredibly difficult to keep in front of her. There were corpses to be leaped over, webbing to steer away from, hanging dead things to be avoided, plus, he had to hold onto Sting and Galadriel's Phial. If he didn't trip and stab himself, he'd be amazed.

He tried not to look back, but he did, and there she was, coming on straight. He screamed again and suddenly—

SMACK.

Right into a web. He hung here, covered with the sticky threads, Sting still in his hand. And behind him, coming into the tunnel was Shelob, her hissing and gurgling more distinctive with every beat of his heart. Adrenaline pumped through his body; he struggled in vain for a few moments—and then Gollum's head appeared over a rock.

"_Pretty little fly_

_why does it cry?_

_Caught in a web_

_Soon he'll be_…eaten."

Frodo didn't waste anymore time. Anger spread like fire throughout his body. He screamed in fury and began hacking at the web, hacking for his life, in order to get to the traitorous creature, the creature that had betrayed him. He cut himself loose just in time. The huge form of Shelob was blocking out all light now, and she cast a shadow on the young girl and her antagonist. The legs were pushing at the rocks and hanging corpses, trying to get at Frodo. But Frodo was quick, and, at last, cut himself free. He raced out of the cave as fast as he could, and tumbled down out of a little opening.

Frodo had stumbled out of that horrible place, but as he moved along, trying to rid himself of the horrible webbing, a form sprang from nowhere, and Gollum was suddenly on him, clawing and raking and spitting. Like a snarling dog, he wrapped his long fingers around Frodo's throat and slammed his head against the wall. Frodo resisted violently, suddenly taking Gollum by the shoulders and wrenching him off, bodily throwing him against a rock. His head was spinning.

"Don't hurt uss!" wailed Gollum, as Frodo raised his hand and struck Gollum violently with his fist. "It was the preciouss…the precious made us do it! Don't hurt us!"

Frodo looked into the eyes of the wretched creature. Gollum was groveling beneath him like a beaten dog, and there was terror and pain in his eyes. It might very well have been the precious, but it had been Sam too, and Frodo was furious. Mysteries and horror surrounded him. Which path was he to take? How was he to know the right thread to follow?

He let go of Gollum and stood up. His eyes did not flash, but held a pity, like that of a great warlord over his prey. He walked away a pace, and Gollum rubbed his throat, looking after the master with hurt in his eyes. Frodo clenched his fist. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, and he wished that it had never happened. But here he was, and he'd be cursed if he would turn back now! The weak little hobbit of the Shire stood upon the brink of the exit of Shelob's lair, torn and dirty, weak and wobbly. But his heart was still beating, and it was enough to keep him going, no matter what the cost…even if it were his life.

"I have to destroy it, Smeagol," he said softly. "For both our sakes." And for Sam. For Adelaide. For Gandalf, Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, Elrond, Middle Earth…

Gollum, watched his master with a dawning horror. Master meant to destroy the precious. Master meant to kill it, cut it off and away from him, take it away and burn it, never let Smeagol see it again. As a drunken man in agony realizes that his friend is about to take away his world of alcohol, Gollum's eyes became shrouded in flame, anger consumed him, and the skin stretched tight over his skull. He gave a shriek of madness and flung himself at Frodo. Frodo turned sharply, and was knocked to the edge of the canyon. Gollum tried to spring back, but accidentally rebounded off Frodo into the gloom. Frodo turned and watched in terror as his adversary bounced against the rocks and fell into the lurking darkness of the abyss.

Frodo felt his heart weaken for a moment, and he stopped, wide-eyed. His whole body felt chilled, as though a freezing wind had suddenly passed. But with all the warmth and fire around, he didn't quite see how any wind could be up there. He passed a hand over his brow, uncertain. He took another step. And, utterly exhausted, he fell to the ground.

But it was soft, green ground, velvet-lined with grass and fallen leaves of the golden trees that stood with creeping moss. The yellow leaves were falling around him as the pure light of day streamed down upon him. The scent was fresh, and he had smelled this before…Lothlorien?

He raised his head. Before him stood Galadriel, garbed in white as he had seen her, her hair as golden as the sun, and her smile as radiant as day. Her eyes sparkled like fresh pools of crystal-blue water, and she stretched out her arms towards him like a mother coming to comfort a little child who has fallen. He looked up at her in despair. He wanted merely to lie there with the soothing smell and gentle air about him; he never wanted to awaken from this dream. And then Galadriel stepped to the side a bit, and Frodo saw Adelaide standing there, her head turned away from him. Her mind reached out and connected to his, and in that moment, he said everything that he needed to say to her: I love you. Her eyes danced in response. She looked troubled, hurt, but relief made her body sag, and she smiled the smile of one who has a confirmation on a false rumor.

And here he was, laying on the ground like a baby. Frodo grimaced, and then saw the Lady as she held out a white hand.

"This task was appointed to you, Frodo of the Shire. If you cannot find a way, then no one will."

He looked at Galadriel's hand. And resolution sprung up inside him like never before. With a spurt of strength, he wrenched himself up and grasped the Lady's hand.

She smiled brightly, and pulled him to his feet.

* * *

Adelaide, meanwhile, decided that now was as good a time as any to catch up to Aragorn. "And I won't let him see that anything's troubling me," she thought fiercely. "He can think what he likes of me, but I won't show any emotion whatsoever. I'll be perfectly indifferent. And I won't give Legolas two cents' worth of a look, either! If he's still lust-ridden, that's his own problem, not mine. I have a job to do, and so does he, and if he lets me get in the way of his job, it's not my fault. I do mine; he should be able to do his." Her imagination brought her inside the darkened passage beneath the mountain. She had no lights to guide her, and she gingerly picked her way forward using her sense of touch. Several times her fingers passed over the bony hollows of a skull embedded in the wall. Another time, she tripped over the remains of a soldier, dressed in battle gear, on the floor. The whole place smelled musty and ancient, like a giant underground Roman crypt (Adelaide had the fortune to visit Italy once…she knew what Roman crypts smelled like!).

"I must be crazy," she spoke out loud to assure herself. "Too many damn things have happened in one whole fucking day. One minute I'm almost raped, the next minute I slap my best friend and fire myself from a job, the next I get zapped by a wizard, the next my boyfriend gets attacked by a giant spider, and the next damn minute, I'm in a crypt searching for my employer! Ho-ly shit. Life really doesn't get much more complicated than this. This isn't me. I don't do things like this. I watch reruns of Gilligan's Island while snacking on Doritos and chocolate-chip cookies. I cuddle stuffed animals and sing for funerals. I swim every day and take pictures of little pine trees. I'm supposed to be working on a damn thesis! What the hell am I doing here, anyway?"

"I don't know, but you've got a bit of explaining to do," Aragorn's voice jumped out of nowhere, and he reentered the picture, bearing a torch, Legolas and Gimli following closely behind. Aragorn's face was stern. "What, may I ask, are you doing here?"

Adelaide opened her mouth, shut it again, and looked foolish.

"I haven't got all day, Adelaide. Give your reasons and then go. I think you've caused enough trouble tonight."

Her cheeks burned with humiliation, and a lump formed in her throat. "I'm back," she croaked.

"Back?"

"Gandalf told me to."

"I see. You'll take your orders from him, then? Strange, that I should have been the one to endure all that ruckus in the camp. But I am a patient man, as you'll find. I've no quarrel with you. Follow us, then, but do not hinder us in any way. If you do, I will make you wake up and leave us."

Adelaide choked back her tears. So much for her plan of emotionless-ness. She swallowed hard. Apologies were going to be so damn hard. She had gotten herself into a right jam, and no mistake, as Sam Gamgee would have practically pointed out. But there was no time to debate jams. Adelaide followed the others down the passage. Gimli, of course and as always, knew more than what he let on about, and hung back just a little to take Adelaide's hand and squeeze it comfortingly. It was enough to let Adelaide know that there was someone who still cared—and DID care, for that matter.

"No matter what anyone says, I do have an intimacy with this place," Adelaide thought. "I'm not just here for my own joyride, though I do have some moments."


	14. Holy Whacking Wizards!

Chapter 14

Holy Whacking Wizards!

**I am so sorry it's taken forever to update. I got myself a second job, a new car, and an apartment all in two weeks, plus I went on a Jeremy Brett/Sherlock Holmes craze for another two weeks. So life has been pretty hectic, but I really honestly have been meaning to get around to the story…and here it is! More pieces to the puzzle…yay! **

**

* * *

**

Dawn broke out upon the land and the sun's fair rays lit upon the cold and silent figure of Eowyn as she stood upon the crest of the hill, looking down over the encampment, where thousands of little white tents lay peacefully slumbering. The scene was not a little unlike Rohan, where she had been born. Campfires lay sizzling, the last embers dying away from the night before. Men were stirring from their tents and groggily washing their faces. Others were sharpening their weapons. First light came with the sound of men preparing for battle. Eowyn crossed her arms and put a hand to her cold cheek which had just earlier stung with the force of a blow. Why could she not ride out with the men?

She felt as though her world had crumbled around her. The friend she thought she knew was as good as dead to her. The man she loved had spurned her. Everyone was about to ride off into battle and leave her alone in the camp. Eowyn already felt cold and alone as it was; she wanted to ride into battle and drown her pain with battle-cries, the ring of steel, and perhaps even the sharper, more physical pain of death. What was her life worth, anyhow? Death was seemingly a lot better than living with glory and seeing Aragorn in the arms of another woman.

She sulked quietly. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. What couldn't Aragorn see in her? Eowyn felt bitter. Why did even the scullery maid have to have a husband, while she, Eowyn, a daughter of kings, shieldmaiden of Rohan, wasn't even engaged? If Aragorn had accepted her love, which she had felt to be true and honest, she would have become Queen of Gondor, certainly, a mighty, noblewoman with great talent and riches. She would have held a position of power and glory and honor. Instead, he loved a stupid Elf, some stupid bitch who was about to sail over the seas anyway! A dumb old pansy who probably couldn't say boo to a goose. It just…wasn't…fair.

Naturally, this Arwen wench probably had everything Aragorn wanted in a woman, and she, Eowyn, had absolutely none of that. When he called her fair, he was just trying to be nice. He probably meant nothing of what he had told her. All compliments could be forwarded to the Elf, for all she knew. She was a tough young lady, but Aragorn probably didn't like that after all. So she had spoken of valor and glory for nothing! She had figured that kind of speech would stir his heart into love of her; it only inspired pity, and Eowyn, above all others, despised the pity of others. Especially if it was Aragorn. She wanted no pity. She wanted none of it. Pity was for weak men and women. Strength lay in fighting the wounds. But whether she wanted it or not, she was going to get it.

King Theoden came from his tent and stood behind his niece, calculating her thoughts. Since the departure of Aragorn, he had guessed quite a bit, and most of his guesses would have won him the lottery. He knew, however, that it was extremely difficult for a man to tell a woman that he did not love her—an attractive woman, at that. Just how the heck did a man get the idea across to her without hurting her feelings, or giving her the wrong idea? But however Aragorn had done it, he figured that such an honorable man must have done it quite gently. If he had done it any way else, Eowyn wouldn't even still be around camp.

He sidled up beside her and stood watching the sunrise. Someone would have to make the first move, and it seemed as if it would be up to him.

"I've left instruction," he said, trying to be businesslike. "The people are to follow your rule in my stead, should the battle go ill. You are to take up my seat in the Golden Hall. Long may you defend Edoras."

Eowyn didn't care a drop of spit about Edoras at the moment.

"What other duty would you have me do, my lord?" she asked numbly.

Theoden was looking at her tenderly, and she suddenly realized that his words had been more of a compliment than an order.

"Duty?" he said, coming forward. "No. No other. But I would have you smile again. I would not have you grieve for those whose time has come. The darkness has not closed in about us yet, Eowyn. Look to hope."

He pressed her hands and put his forehead to hers, willing her to see the love he bore for her. When she was in pain, he too, was in pain. But it was all so obvious just at this precise moment. She gritted her teeth and tried not to cry.

_Only the weak cry._

_Only the weak need pity._

_Okay, so I'm weak._

_And I need pity._

_

* * *

_

Quite after being helped to his feet by Galadriel, Frodo was walking forward with grim determination, heart and mind set and bent on destroying the Ring. The freshness of the vision had completely restored his confidence that all would turn out okay anyway, however discouraging things looked at the moment. And things were certainly looking discouraging. If he had stopped to look, he might have seen the familiar eight-legged shape squeezing out from one of her many exits, looking down with hungry eyes upon the prey she didn't intend to let escape. As Shelob crawled after the juicy morsel, Frodo had a vague sense that he was being followed.

Quickly, he looked upwards. Nothing. To the right and left. Nothing. Behind? Nothing.

He was stilled turned when the stinger came behind him, dripping poison. When Frodo turned again, it was gone. But the second after he turned, it flashed out again, and hit him directly in the chest. Frodo had a vague image of the discolored underbelly of the spider before his insides turned to foam; he gargled at the mouth, and promptly fell forward into the receiving arms of a very happy female spider. Using her back legs and spinnerrettes, she rolled him in a thick layer of webbing to store in her larder for next week's tea. Frodo was looking very much like a caterpillar in a cocoon when a bright light blinded Shelob's eyes, and a familiar voice spoke out against her.

"Put him down, you filth!" cried Samwise Gamgee the Totally Brave. Shelob did as she was told, but only for convenience of movement. Sam was still carrying his pack and all the pots and pans included, but in one hand he carried the phial of Galadriel, and in the other was Sting. Anger and determination festered within his eyes as he saw his friend, whom he loved so dearly, wrapped like a hot dog. The hand holding the phial trembled.

"Come on and have at it!" he waved Sting. "You will not touch him again! Come on and finish it!"

Shelob made a nasty sound and pounced.

Sam rolled under her legs and managed to get on the other side of her, slashing this way and that. The spider's bulk was too big, however, and he only succeeded in scraping only a little flesh off. He rolled to one side, and Shelob copied his movements. Back and forth they went, like boxers, around and around in that little space. Sam made valiant but clumsy stabs, and Shelob managed finally to pin him down, sending the phial spinning from his hand. Sam yelled and stabbed at her eyes, putting one out. She screamed and reared backwards, cursing in whatever tongue spiders use, and rubbing with a pedipalp her injured eye. Then, with one foot, she kicked the phial out of the way and came at the little hobbit again, sending him sprawling, and Sting flying from his grasp.

Sam had little recourse but to run.

He climbed upon the cragged wall and turned, beating at the spider with his bare feet, and watching in horror as they pushed at her jaws, which were salivating and switching open and closed like switchblades. Finally, Sam pushed at her eyes, and she tumbled down. Sam fell with her and hurried over to Sting, but Shelob did not let him have the satisfaction of picking it up. She neatly pinned him down again, and this time she was ready to kill with her stinger. Sam saw the underbelly of the spider, and then the stinger, dripping poison more deadly than anything else known by creatures. He rolled to the left and right, avoiding the stinger by inches…and then he grabbed a hold of Sting.

When Shelob brought her abdomen down again for another thrust, it was Sam this time who thrust upwards with his sword, sticking it deep into the flesh of the vulnerable thorax. Shelob screamed in anger and pain, wrenching herself up off the horrible pin and crouching backwards, scrambling away from the horrid thing that had just caused her to bleed and leak whatever juices had swollen her belly. Then Sam leapt over to the phial, grabbed it, and held it aloft, the starlight shining directly into the eyes of the horrid monster. Shelob was defeated. With her butt in pain, an eye out, and this new light shining directly into her eyes, this was more than she could stand, and she crawled backwards, squeezing her vast bulk into a crack in the wall, disappearing from sight.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief and hurried over to Frodo, tearing open the bindings around his face. His friend was cold and stiff as a board, pale as a ghost, and eyes open, unseeing. Sam picked up the body of his master and began to cry.

"Oh Mr. Frodo!" he whimpered. "Don't leave me! Don't go where I can't follow!"

Unfortunately, however, the situation of their position was against them, for Sam soon saw that Sting's blade grew bright blue, and he heard the barking voices of orcs, who were coming closer from a faraway tower, to see just what the heck was going on. Sam looked helplessly at his master and then made a fast decision.

Hiding amid the rocks, a few seconds later, Sam was able to see and hear everything, as the orcs approached the dead body of Frodo.

"What's this?" said a small skinny one. "Looks like old Shelob's been on the hunt! Ah-ha!"

"Killed another one, has she?"

"Naw." The orc who had spoken first prodded Frodo with the butt of his whip handle. "This lad ain't dead. She jabs 'em with her stinger, and they go as limp as a boned fish. Ah! Then she has her way with them. That's the way she likes to feed. Fresh blood. Get him to the tower!"

"Not dead!" Sam whispered to himself. "Samwise, you fool!"

"This scum will be awake in a couple of hours."

"Then he'll wish he'd never been born," the orc growled.

* * *

Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli moved swiftly through the dark tunnels of the cavern in which they had entered. Adelaide followed morosely behind, not wanting to get in the way. Aragorn was quite PO'd at her, and the last thing she needed was to incite his wrath any more than it already was. She was in a whole hell of trouble, but there wasn't much she could do but bite her lip, swallow her pride, and help the Fellowship.

Legolas stopped short about halfway through the tunnel, and peered back over his shoulder. "What is it?" Gimli whispered. 'What do you see?"

"I see the shapes of men…and of horses," the Elf replied softly. "Their banners flutter like webbing in a misty night. The dead are following. They have been summoned."

"The dead? Summoned?" Gimli whispered frantically, clutching his axe and looking around wildly. "Oh…I knew that. Summoned. Very good—LEGOLAS!"

He hurried off to stick close to his friend, who was up ahead, wading through what seemed to be a midst of green fog. The fog was rising up in little tongues shaped like hands, and they were grasping, pulling, reaching for the living. Aragorn, who was already ahead of them all, peered down another long dark tunnel.

"I think this is the way," he said quietly.

Gimli was too busy trying to blow away the fog that was reaching up to him.

"Do not look down," Aragorn muttered.

Gimli took one step forward and heard the crackle beneath his feet. He tried his very best not to look down, but curiosity overcame him, and his eyes went to the floor. The entire floor was carpeted with skulls. This, then, was what they were walking on. And every single skull was crunching under their feet. Gimli made his way through, trying hard not to desecrate the dead bodies, but pretty soon he grinned in glee and hurried through the skulls, enjoying the crunching noise they made.

They finally made their way into a great cavern, and here was their dead end. Behind them was the tunnel, and before them was a great raised throne upon a large broad stone disk, stairs leading up to it that had been weathered for many years. On the other side, near the tunnel, there was a steep drop that led to a dark chasm. The walls were slick and smooth, and above their heads, no light could be seen. Adelaide rubbed her lips together to moisten them.

"All the comforts of home. But who'd want to live here anyway?"

A sudden breeze by her arm chilled her to the bone, and she looked around, but could see no one. The next minute, a voice could be heard, a guttural voice of sneering malcontent.

"_Who enters my domain?"_

They all spun around to face the throne. Aragorn stepped forward, trying to visualize the speaker.

_Uh…_he'd_ want to live here…_

Materializing out of thin air was the King of the Soldier-Ghosts, a crown or helmet upon his rotted head. He still bore his armor, but it was rusted, and what little clothing he had was in shreds. Most of his hair had fallen out, and his cheekbones protruded. He was, in fact, a dead and rotting person…a green ghost. Adelaide watched him curiously. She had never seen a ghost before. Beside her, Gimli shifted closer. But Aragorn stood forward, not a bit daunted by the sight of Mr. Zombie.

"One who would have your allegiance," he spoke with zeal.

"The dead do not suffer the living to pass."

"You will suffer me!"

The zombie-soldier laughed. His mouth unhinged, and as the laughter deepened, so did the holes in his cheeks, and the rotted skin pulled away, revealing a yellow skull beneath the tendons and the flesh. And as he laughed, the entire cavern suddenly lit up in a greenish-yellow light, and behind them, they could see the mighty empire the ghosts had made for themselves out of thin air. A thousand—no a million—more than a million soldiers!—came marching from their posts, armed and ready for battle. But these were no men; these were ghosts, dead and rotted, each more horrible than the last. They pressed round the remains of the Fellowship, leering at them with curious eye-sockets.

One of them reached out with a fleshless arm to touch Adelaide's sleeve—more out of curiosity than anything else. She looked back at it, trying to conquer the rising fear and horror inside. The ghost gave her a sad, haunted look. There were two things to be: dead or living, and to be a ghost, neither dead or alive, must have been pure torture. Adelaide felt immediate pity for them. Why, these ghosts, though definitely hostile, were at heart aching to sleep in peace!

"The way is shut," growled the skeleton king. "It was made by those who are dead…and the dead keep it."

"I summon you to fulfill your oath!"

"None but the King of Gondor may summon me."

Legolas let an arrow fly, but it simply passed through the ghost without results. He was walking forward now, slowly at first, but picking up the pace rapidly, a hint of a wicked smile upon his crumbling features. The king lifted his sword. "The way is shut. Now you must die!"

Adelaide yelled.

Just as the ghost's sword came down, Aragorn's came up and met his with the familiar tone of ringing steel, as Adelaide's scream died away into an echo. The ghosts looked a tad unnerved at this event. So did the king.

"That blade was broken!" he hissed.

"It has been remade!" Aragorn spat back, and gripped the ghost by the throat. He actually gripped it by the throat! As only, of course, the true King of Gondor could do. Adelaide breathed a sigh of relief as Aragorn hurled the ghost backwards.

"Fight for us," he said. "And I will release you from your debt. You have my word."

He walked amid the ghosts, some of whom looked at him with expressions of possible hope. Was it true? This, then was Isildur's heir to the throne of Gondor? The man who could wield the remade sword, and touch the dead without fear? The man who could let them rest in peace? How had it come to this? Too long had they waited, and now they were faced with this prospect from the lips of the heir—the King—himself. The offer was very, very good.

"Fight for us, and I will hold your oaths fulfilled," Aragorn said. "What say you?"

The ghosts were silent.

"What say you?"

"You're wasting your breath, Aragorn!" snapped Gimli. "They had no honor when they were living, now they have none in death."

"I am Isildur's heir. Fight for us, and regain your honor."

All he received in return was that horrid laughter again—the laughter of all those ghosts, as if they didn't believe them. And then the incredible happened. The ghosts began to disappear. Aragorn ran around frantically.

"You have my word!" he cried.

The ghosts had disappeared into the walls of rock, which were now trembling as though an earthquake was ready to hit.

Adelaide trembled and caught his arm. "Aragorn, we have to go, now—"

She was right. The whole cavern was trembling now, as if an earthquake had hit. Then, from the side of the opposite wall, came rolling three skulls. They landed at the feet of Gimli, who yelled and kicked them halfway across the room. But that was the least of his worries. A moment later, the entire wall split, and more than a million skulls came thundering down like wheat out of a grainery. Legolas grabbed Adelaide's arm and bodily pulled her forward. Aragorn was already moving, dodging the skulls and climbing over the mass mountain of human heads to reach the light at the end of the wall. Twice, Gimli almost got buried, and they sank into the pouring human-head-hailstones, but at last they broke out into the fresh air, on the other side of the mountain. There below them they saw black ships sailing with a deadly cargo into a Gondorian port.

Aragorn felt a sense of hopelessness overwhelm him and he sat down, feeling like a total failure. Legolas put a hand on his shoulder. Gimli scratched his head. Adelaide watched the ships, stifling her words that filled her mouth. Now was not a good time to be a smart-ass.

Aragorn was very quiet.

Suddenly, materializing from the wall, stepped the ghost-king, who looked very different in the sunlight. Aragorn stood immediately, facing down this traitor and wondering what he wanted now. The ghost gave him a sly smile of triumph.

"We fight!"

* * *

Meanwhile, in Minas Tirith, Pippin watched as a lone horse trotted towards Minas tirith, dragging the form of a man behind him. The horse had been sent from Osgiliath, and it was the horse of Faramir, son of Denethor. The figure trailing behind was Faramir himself, caught on one of the horse's stirrups. There were two arrows in him, one lodged in his shoulder, and the other in his arm. Blood trickled down from his forehead. Pippin gasped as he saw the burning in Osgiliath, and the massive dark clouds that had gathered over there. On the ground, a shadow had formed, but this was in reality no shadow; it was a massive army, ready for war, and it was crawling slowly towards Minas Tirith.

The gates were opened for the horse, and Faramir was dragged inside; healers at once took him up and bore him to the courtyard where the White Tree stood, and there they laid him down in the sunlight and fresh air. Coming to them quickly across the courtyard was Denethor, his face a mask of shocked emotions. One son had been killed; had another one been murdered as well? For you see, for all Denethor's nasty reputation, and his apparrant hatred of Faramir, he really did (deep, deep, deep, deep in the abyss of his heart) love his son, for he resembled his late wife, whom he had tenderly loved. Losing Faramir was like losing the last bit of his hope.

"My son, my son!" he cried, falling at his side. "Oh no…no, no…"

He felt his forehead and then lost everything.

By losing everything, I mean that he went insane.

"The line is broken!" he cried. "The line of Stewards is broken! I have failed!"

Pippin came scrambling out of the door and hurried over to Faramir, bending down and looking him over carefully. And then he saw what his father had not: the man was alive, breathing, and looking as if he were in need of CPR. Unhappily, Pippin was unfamiliar with First Aid or otherwise, but he was smart enough to see that Denethor had once again made a hasty mistake, and all Faramir needed was the ER.

"He's alive!" he cried to Denethor. "He needs medicine, my lord!"

"The line has failed!" Denethor repeated, yelling savagely, and stumbling over to the balcony, and looking out. But even as he did so, his eyes caught the shadow moving from Osgiliath, and he went slack-jawed.

Right before his very doorstep was a horde of black orcs, a massive army ready for battle, armed with every kind of horrible device and weapon contrived by cunning, evil minds. Trolls pushed gigantic towers laden with orcs, and massive behemoths pulled a fiery wolf's head. There were catapults, oil and fire-balls, and levers of all shapes and sizes, meant for war and torture. The black army was cheering, chanting, and stomping their feet in their crude black tongue, cheerleading the victory for Mordor, as if they had already won. This was a sight that nobody had been prepared for, least of all Denethor.

The poor Steward shook with rage and horror, unable to believe his eyes. Gandalf's earlier words came back to him, and he regretted his former actions, but that did not take the place of the anger in his heart, and his mind could not contemplate anything except immediate defeat and surrender.

Or, in many cases, suicide.

"Fear," said the leader of the orcs, a tall, pig-like creature with a potato-shaped head (who shall henceforth be known as Potato, or Pot for short). "The city is rank with it." His cunning, cruel eyes greedily took in the sight of Minas Tirith, a regular sitting duck. No defenses. No preparations. No party streamers. And no welcoming committee. Just the kind of thing he liked…a helpless city, ready to be taken with as little force as possible. He hoped, at least, for some kind of confrontation. If there was little resistance, there was no sport, and if there was no sport, there was no fun.

"Let us ease their pain," he simpered wickedly to his first mate, an orc of sharp and cruel disposition. "Release the prisoners!"

A troll laughed wickedly and pulled a lever, cranking back a catapult. The bars on the device were smeared in blood—human blood, which dripped down from the grisly burden the mechanism carried. A moment later, heads went flying.

Literally.

The guards of Minas Tirith put up their shields to ward off whatever was falling their way, but more than one got sick when they realized that these were not stones but human heads…the heads of those who had been sent to reclaim Osgiliath. Every last man had been slaughtered by the orcs—except for Faramir, who was the only survivor. From his tower, Denethor watched these proceedings with horror, realizing the great folly he had committed in sending good men and his last son out to retake a garrison that was swarming with orcs. If this was what he had been up against, then not even Boromir could have done much better…

The orcs were now loading stones and bits of metal into the catapults, sending them flying through the air. A gaping hole in the city appeared, as the brick smashed into it, and a woman screamed. The city was being bombarded, and it seemed as though the orcs intended to destroy every inch of it, til nothing remained. More holes appeared in the city as brick tumbled to the ground, men were killed, and people were sent into a panic. They had not been expecting this, nor so soon.

Denethor looked at the ruins around him and shook with an inner rage. "Theoden has betrayed me!" he snarled, and then he gave a hearty roar.

"ABANDON YOUR POSTS!" he cried, a bull's voice that carried through the walls and vibrated in the helmets of the confused men. "FLEE, FLEE FOR YOUR LIVES!"

He turned, mouth agape, ready to collapse.

And Gandalf whacked him viciously over the head.

The White Wizard had been increasingly maddened by Denethor's overall attitude to the whole business of war and whatnot. It was one thing to grieve over a son, but another to totally give in to despair. These senseless orders were the last straw to the wizard's patience. The man needed a whack over the head. Disgusted, the wizard pulled in his staff and hit Denethor again in the stomach, doubling him over and sending him to the ground.

"Prepare for battle!" he cried to the men.


	15. Renegade Beauties and Unfinished Stories

Chapter 15

Renegade Beauties and Unfinished Stories

* * *

Gandalf was not a man who let the grass grow under his feet. He was an expert commander with a will of iron and an encouraging heart. His gaze was always forward, never back, and he was both practical and responsible. Men followed his instructions, feeling unafraid to plunge into the fray of battle while the white wizard gave orders and encouraged them on. They managed to bring up one of their own catapults, and used pieces of the city to throw at the orcs, managing to squash quite a few. But Pot was not to be deterred.

"Stay where you are!" he ordered the orcs. They sent more brick in return, and arrows. Meanwhile, Gandalf rode among the archers of Gondor, and they sent their arrows flying towards the trolls pushing the towers along, and at the orcs on the ground. Gandalf was aware that if the towers reached the city, Minas Tirith would be swarming with a new and unpleasant population.

"Aim at the trolls! Do not shoot at the towers!"

The men obeyed, and filled a troll full of arrows, like a hedgehog. Their catapults fired more bits of rock. One particularly large chunk of Minas Tirith blotted out the sun, soared magnificently into the air, and targeted Pot. Newton's Law of Gravity permitted it to fall with alarming speed. Pot stepped to one side. That single step saved his life, as the chunk of brick landed directly beside him. A troll glanced at the captain, and Potato spat on the rock.

Up above, the men were being attacked by the Witch King, who rode upon his winged beast. The creature had all advantages to his side and relished in carrying men off or dropping them on the battlefield to be destroyed by the orcs. Its piercing shriek resounded in the metal helmets of the men, breaking eardrums or else permanently damaging hearing for life (and hearing aids weren't to be invented for some time yet).

The orcs, meanwhile, had taken up a heavy iron beam, and were pounding away at the gates of the city, trying to gain entrance that way. But the archers of Gondor felled them quickly, and as soon as they took up their posts again, they were killed. A pile of orcs began forming at the door, creating a very smelly but effective barrier. Pot, who had all the brains of the army, snarled, and motioned at the orcs.

"Cease your useless hammering!" he rasped.

"But my lord, the gate is too strong," protested a pipsqueak of an orc, eager to please. "Nothing will break it!"

Pot gave the little squeaker a look that he would have remembered long into his years, if he hadn't been killed in the next hour by an arrow.

"Grond will break it!" Potato said, smiling as wide as he was able.

* * *

Rohan was mustering its forces.

"We break camp!" Theoden called. "We ride for Gondor, and for war!"

Men were finishing breakfast and loading on the gear; they were taking up their horses and mounting. They armed themselves readily, and put water over their fires, so that nothing burned, and made ready to go. A feeling of stealth and eagerness was in the air; the men thirsted for war, ready to hack away at a few of the spidery fiends, and to win at any cost. Happily, they swung themselves up into their saddles, and rode forth. Theoden himself looked resplendent in his fine gold armor, with his sword and crown of golden hair. His noble face gleamed in anticipation of the great things that were to come. But as he rode forth, he stopped near the humble tent of young Meriadoc Brandybuck. The hobbit had been up before dawn, and had been wearing his gear ever since, ready to help his friends at any cost. He had saddled his pony and was ready to ride with the company. But Theoden looked sadly upon him.

"My men cannot burden themselves with you, Master Hobbit," he said kindly. "Little Hobbits do not belong in war."

"All my friends have gone to battle!" Merry protested. "I should be ashamed to be left behind!"

"None of my men can bear you hence," said Theoden.

"I want to fight!" Merry made one last attempt. But Theoden was stoic in his manner.

"I will say no more," he said firmly, and rode forward. Merry looked after him as he went, yelling his fierce war-cry, and his heart pounded in anguish. Frodo and Sam were gone; Pippin was gone, and what was he supposed to do? The pipe-weed was all gone anyway!

But as he stood there, looking forlorn, a rider passed behind him, and he was swept off his feet, placed in the front of this mysterious rider.

With blonde hair.

And a rather feminine speech.

"Ride with me," said Eowyn, incognito as Dernhelm, a solider of Rohan. Merry grinned happily. Two outcasts who wanted to help, and they were doing good.

"My lady!" he whispered happily.

* * *

Adelaide stood on the beach, sunlight catching her auburn tresses rather attractively. But she felt too glum to be a swimsuit model at this point. She was watching a few yards from the shoreline, biting her lip as Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas stood before the water's edge and addressed the black ships. There were about seven total, all bearing very cruel-looking men.

"You may go no further," Aragorn said coolly. The leader of the black ships stood, a frown on his already sour face. Aragorn was not intimidated. "You will not enter Gondor."

The men on board the ship laughed.

"Who are you to deny us passage?" snapped the cruel leader. Aragorn spoke to Legolas, not taking his eyes off the captain.

"Legolas, fire a warning shot below the Bo'sun's ear."

"Mind your aim!" Gimli added, as Legolas strung his bow and aimed. But the dwarf nudged the bottom of the Elf's bow, so that Legolas shot cock-eyed, hitting the Bo'sun directly in the chest, killing him on the spot.

"Ooh!" Gimli put a hand to his mouth. "Whoops! That's it…we warned you. Prepare to be boarded!"

The men laughed, not caring a bit about their silly Bo'sun, who had been in the way all along.

"Boarded? By you and whose army?"

Aragorn grinned.

"_This_ army," he said.

Before the men on the ships had time to react, the entire millions of ghost-soldiers came running out from between the Fellowship, swords and weapons raised, yelling like banshees. The resistance was little, as most of the men dived overboard, and even more did a miraculous feat of running laps around the deck before getting enough speed to jump as far in to shore as possible. The rest of the men were killed, and as Aragorn took possession of all seven ships, he stationed ghosts onto each one, and continued to sail onwards to Gondor, a plan already shaped in his mind.

"I hope you know what you're doing, 'cause we don't," Adelaide informed him.

"You'll know soon enough." Aragorn spoke shortly to her. It was clear that he was still very upset over their earlier conversation. "Because you aren't coming with us. I want you to wake up and stay in the cells of Minas Tirith; do you understand me?"

"Gandalf told me—"

"I don't care what he told you. You are old enough to look after yourself, as you are so fond of telling us. You need not obey him."

"Then I don't have to obey you either," she shot back, and then cringed inwardly, aghast at herself. Why, she had never said anything she felt so sure about in her whole life; it was as though she was actually in control of herself and her actions for once! "I choose to come with you."

"You're not coming, Adelaide, and that's final. Do me a favor and don't get yourself into trouble here. You will only be in the way."

Tears sprung up into the girl's eye; she bit her lip to keep from blubbering, but the harsh crack of the man's words went right to the core of her being. _Even as I drove a sword into his own heart with my words_, she thought. _Be brave now, obey him, and we'll get out of this, Adelaide_.

She swallowed hard and nodded. Practical sense overruled her emotional heart, and she closed her eyes, waking herself back up to her cold cell. Aragorn had disappeared, as had the ships and the ghosts. Loud noises filled the air above the cells, screams of men and women, the cries of children, the blood-curdling war-whoops of orcs and trolls. The little cell shook and trembled violently as the orc catapult continued its assault.

Adelaide felt numb, but her fingers slowly inched towards the hilt of her sword.

_I am my own person, the captain of my heart and hand and mind. _

_And I will not stay here in this cage._

_Listen to me. Damn, girl, you're sounding more and more like Eowyn every fucking day._

* * *

Meanwhile, the orcs were still besieging Minas Tirith, and this time they were not trying to break down the doors with some measely little iron log. The men of Gondor watched in astonishment as great horned beasts bellowed and pulled forward, straining on their chains to pull a massive cart towards the door. This cart held twin pillars connected by a single beam overhead, from which there hung a great wolf's head, hollow on the inside, and filled with fire. This was Grond, the Hammer of the Underworld, and the pride and joy of every known orc and evil creature. Even the Nazgul possessed some sort of pride in it, for maliciously thinking, it was a thing of evil beauty, strength, and power, and symbolized Mordor in more ways than one. Large, fearsome, and quite ugly altogether, Grond was formidable when it came to knocking down doors.

_I'll huff…and I'll puff…and I'll blow your house in!_

_Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf now, eh?_

A troll set to swinging the massive chain that held the wolf's head. With every swing, it smashed violently upon the door of the city, and sparks flew. The men in the city lined up behind the door, and waited for it to come crashing through.

Daylight was slowly beginning to fade, but this did not stop the battle, nor did anyone pause for a break. Even now the towers that the trolls were pushing drew closer to the city, and when they slammed into the side, their doors unlocked, and the drawbridge came crashing down. From the towers swarmed hundreds of die-hard, blood-lusting orcs, armed with spears, maces, swords, hammers, and just about anything else damaging you could think of. They sped quickly into the city, swarming like black ants throughout the corridors and walkways, cutting down anyone in their sight. A family hurrying past was cut down, and the father was horribly mutilated.

The orcs did not stop for anybody (and for that matter, nobody stopped for them, either). The soldiers only kept on hacking brutally away at them, putting up a splendid fight. Gandalf himself was using his sword and busily applying himself to wherever else he was needed. His ward, Pippin, was desperately trying not to get stepped on. He kept tripping up and falling over, as people rushed on by him, and he seemed to keep missing the general direction of battle. Finally, he wandered down a corridor, half in a daze, and saw Gandalf, fighting busily.

"Peregrin Took!" he yelled. "Go back to the citadel!"

"But can't I just—"

Pippin turned with a look of horror as an orc approached, sword gleaming with blood, upraised, ready to strike. At that moment, Gandalf yelled out and placed himself between Pippin and the orc, using his sword and staff in some brilliant moves to ward off the attacks made on the hobbit from all sides. He made time only to turn to Pippin and gasp, "This is no place for a hobbit!" He turned and stabbed another orc.

Another orc snuck up behind the wizard, and would have dealt him a very serious injury, had not Pippin drawn his blade for the first time, and made his first kill in battle. It felt odd, to have that long steel blade go up through tough armor and pierce flesh. The shock of it jolted Pippin's arm, but he remained resolute until the orc just naturally slid off the end. Gandalf turned to Pippin, full of praise.

"Guard of the citadel indeed! Now get back there, Peregrin Took!"

Pippin nodded, and, holding his sword aloft, went off to find another battle in which he could immerse his weapon.

The hours dragged on, and as evening approached, Grond had not yet broken the city gates. But he had certainly made a dent, and already the orcs clapped and chanted, "Grond, Grond!" knowing that it wouldn't be long now until they'd get into the city too. The tower-orcs couldn't have all the fun!

Gandalf rode with Shadowfax to the gate, where at least a hundred men or more stood waiting, spears and swords posed for action. They too, knew that the gate was weakening, and when it fell, all hell was really going to break loose, if it hadn't already. Gandalf rode among them, speaking words of encouragement.

"You are soldiers of Gondor, and you will stand your ground!" he said. Even as he spoke, Grond gave another violent push, and the dent scored a hole in the gate. The men saw the gleaming teeth of the wolf, and the fire inside of its mouth. They shivered, but held their ground. They were soldiers of Gondor, after all; they had a city to defend.

"No matter what comes through that gate, you will stand your ground!" Gandalf shouted again.

He spoke too soon.

Grond burst the gate open, and as the dust settled, five huge trolls lumbered forth, their bodies swathed in armor set with iron spikes; in their hands they carried iron clubs with large nails and spikes. They roared viciously and lumbered towards the men. Gandalf, who had lost his voice for a second there, changed his mood and gave immediate orders.

"Fire at will!"

More than a thousand arrows pierced the sky and rained down upon the trolls, hitting in vulnerable areas. The trolls swung blindly, their clubs picking off men and their feet trampling others underfoot. One troll was hit with five arrows in the eye, and from behind, he was slashed at viciously (if he'd survived, he'd have been forever known as Scar-Cheeks). He finally fell, and the men swarmed over him, making certain of his death. The other trolls charged into the fray, and they too, were shot at.

From behind the trolls followed the orcs, who swarmed in and began mutilating everything and everyone in their path. Gandalf sounded a retreat, and brought the men back to regroup. They made their way slowly back into the city, locking the heavy oaken doors on the inside, and holding it shut with pieces of rock and their own body weight. From there, they felt certain, they might have a chance to regroup and possibly last through the night.

* * *

Adelaide heard the noise above and suddenly realized that the heavy doors to Minas Tirith had been broken. The orcs and all their horrors were inside the city, and they would swarm like army ants over the entire city, above and below ground. Adelaide had no desire to sit still in a cell when there was now a huge chance that she could be murdered in it. Her fingers, grasping the hilt of her sword, felt new vibrations in them. Adrenaline, flowing from fear rather than battle-lust, surged through her body. Her heart pounded. What if all her sword-lessons with Eowyn were forgotten in the heat of the moment?

What if she died?

Adelaide thought, trembling, of her mother and father. The very day she had been transported to Middle Earth was the same day she had been so frustrated with the world, with all of them: parents, siblings, friends, businesses…everything in her own world. Suddenly they all seemed so precious: the warmth of her mother's hug, the cheer of her father when his favorite team was winning, her brother's snort when he ran out of pop-tarts, even her sister's dumb doodling.

Life was worth fighting for, and nothing else. But that little motto seemed so small in comparison to the overwhelming feeling of helplessness.

It was quickly replaced by panic as orc cries sounded on the stairwell to the cells.

Adelaide quickly pulled a bobby-pin from her hair and set about to jiggling the lock on her cell. When that didn't work, and the orcs drew closer, she remembered in time that she owned an Elven blade, and it was high time to use it. Bringing the weapon over her head, Adelaide brought the clean steel down as hard as she could over the lock, severing it with a loud clang. She shoved the bars open with her foot and raced out into the corridor, still wearing a gown. The orcs, which were trampling down the stairs, caught sight of her as she whisked away, and ran after her, snarling viciously.

Our heroine was better at running than she was at fighting, but at the most, she was no fool. Only two orcs were actually chasing her, and Adelaide had had lessons, after all. She turned to meet them with uplifted sword, swinging cleanly, skills memorized and perfected. Eowyn and her brother had been excellent teachers. Adelaide could not help beaming with pride. But there was no time to contemplate anything else. She took the stairway that seemed to lead away from the battle, to a quieter part of the city, and began running upwards.

* * *

Meanwhile, Pippin had been wandering across the courtyard, when he came upon an extraordinary sight. Denethor was walking from one of the rooms across the courtyard, bearing in hand a torch, and his expression was sad, noble, and sorrowful. Behind him were six men in uniform, bearing with them on a stretcher the unconscious form of Faramir, who had been bathed and dressed properly. Pippin's heart gladdened. At last, they had given him some medicine, and were now taking him to a proper healing place, where he could be looked after with tender care! But wait, what was that, which Denethor was speaking of now?

"I am Steward of the house of Anarion. Thus have I walked…and thus now will I sleep. Gondor is lost. The line of the Stewards has failed. Death will be happier for us now than defeat." He stopped near the stairs of another room down the corridor across from the courtyard, and smiled grimly, seeming to cry without shedding tears. "Why do the fools fly?" he asked himself, looking upon the women, children, and old men fleeing for their lives. "Better to die sooner than later. For die we must…and no tomb for Denethor and Faramir…no long, slow sleep in death embalmed. We shall burn, like the heathen kings of old. Bring wood and oil!" he commanded his servants, as they broke into the ancient catacombs of the buried Stewards and kings. Pippin followed, alarmed by this sudden turn of events. What the heck was this crazy man up to, anyway?

The room was cold and dark, but already the servants were coming forward with bundles of sticks and straw, and this they placed around a small altar, set in the middle of the room. On every side, there was a small room for each dead person, their tombs bearing their likenesses on top. They looked very noble, even in death. But it was a forbidding, fearful place to a lively young thing like Pippin, and she shuddered. He took a good look at Denethor, trying to gauge his mood. He couldn't make up his mind on whether or not he loved his son or hated him. Now it seemed as though he had just skipped through emotions-school, and was heading for a place in the asylum.

"Did he say burn?" Pippin asked aloud. "And what heathen kings?"

The man was stroking the face of his son, and weeping pathetically.

"My son burns already…the house of his spirit crumbles," he whispered sadly, almost wailing aloud in his grief.

Pippin had had enough. Upon hearing that Denethor might just actually do away with his son while he still lived, his heart became enflamed, and his ire was up. Ignoring everything else, he charged forward and pulled at the bundles of sticks.

"No!" he cried. "He's not dead! He's not dead…_he's not dead_!"

Denethor gave a cry like an enraged bull and grabbed Pippin by the scruff of his collar, hauling him like a child, still kicking and screaming, across the hallway, and flung him outside.

"Farewell, Peregrin, son of Paladin! I release you from my service. Go now and die in the way you think best."

He slammed the door and bolted it. Outside, Pippin used a very strong, colorful word, and on the inside, Denethor turned.

"YOU!" he cried.

Adelaide, completely bewildered, had come up from the cells at last, only to find herself in the resting-place of the kings and stewards. And she had just witnessed Pippin's maltreatment. Fury rose, smoking-hot, inside her head. Nobody—NOBODY—treated her hobbits that way and got away with it. And this time, Gandalf was not around to check her tongue. Tolkien might not have approved, but Adelaide didn't care about that either.

"What the fuck are you DOING?"

Denethor marched over to her, grabbing a dagger from his belt. The look on his face was demonic, hateful. Adelaide stood her ground and clenched the hilt of her sword, feeling completely ridiculous, but unable to move. She blocked the Steward's first blow, and brought her knee up, catching him in the groin. As Denethor doubled over in pain, Adelaide rushed past him to catch up to Pippin. He was a part of her responsibility.

She gasped at the sight that awaited her eyes.

The army of Mordor had taken to worse ideas than could have ever been conceived. They now threw stones dipped in oil and fire, sending these great balls of fire into the city. Shards of liquid-fire rained down on the men, singing their exposed skin and melting bits of armor. Sparks flew from each deadly bomb, setting fire to anything flameable, including the men. As she dodged the men and the balls of fire, she suddenly found herself face-to-face with an orc of serious size and attitude. She glared at him, and he, surprised, stopped in his tracks and glared back.

Well, what do you know—it was the orc from her cell in Isenguard…the one who could supposedly read.

"Oh, hi!" she said.

"Written that story yet?" he snarled, and lunged for her. Adelaide twisted away.

"Actually, no, I haven't. But the guard would still make an interesting subject!"

She blocked his blow, and the orc roared, twisting and stabbing upwards to her gut. Adelaide moved sideways and twirled around, landing a blow smartly at his armored back.

"How'd you get out anyways?" she asked, conversationally. She ducked as his arm swung around to slug her.

"Funny you should mention that," the orc kicked out at her, scoring a point in her thigh. "I was wondering the same thing about you."

"Long story," she said through her teeth with the pain. She stabbed upwards, and was rewarded by a spurt of blood from the orc's unprotected shoulder. "But if you care to read it someday—"

"FILTHY BITCH! I DON'T CARE TO READ!"

The orc attacked her with all the anger he could muster, and Adelaide backed up. As she did, another orc came sailing in from the side, and she ducked. Just as she did this, the orc's lance speared directly through the other orc, spitting him like a shishkabob; at the same time, Adelaide twisted up and sliced the head off the offending orc.

Why, having an Elven blade really was quite marvelous.

* * *

Far, far away, the soldiers of Rohan were making their way forward, to the city of Minas Tirith. Still at least a day away, it was evening where they were, the sun not quite set yet. The soldiers were resting with their small dinners, and scouts were coming back from Gondor with reports. Theoden received them.

"The scouts report Minas Tirith is surrounded," said Eomer. "Everywhere leads to the enemy's advance."

"Time is against us," whispered Theoden, wondering what to do.

Meanwhile, Eowyn had taken off her helmet, a small distance from the men, and was keeping an eye on Merry, who was having a quick bite to eat. The two stowaways weren't about to be left out of the fun their friends and relatives were having, or at least that was Merry's thought. He desired to help his friends. But Eowyn wanted an escape route. Something that would boost her up in glory and make her forget the pain Aragorn had inflicted upon her. Life was not worth living unless she gained some honor, here, folks. And if she couldn't have the man, she wouldn't have the life. But if she gained renown and glory! Ha! She'd show Aragorn what a pathetic creature it was that he truly loved! Could his precious Arwen ride into battle dressed like a man? Huh? Could she? Could she wield a sword and swear and (Illuvatar forbid) arm wrestle? Eowyn was determined to grow up a queen of high standards…a warrior queen of noble beauty, rare talent, and deadly reputation. But still, all that seemed incomparable to the life she might have had with Aragorn. She wanted to cry, just thinking about it.

Merry had been watching her, and guessed quite a bit. Like Theoden, most of his guesses would not only have won him the lottery, but the new red Ferarri and hot blind date to boot. Ever since he had seen her, he thought her very fair, and loved her, feeling as though she needed some kind of knight in her life. And since Aragorn obviously didn't want to be That Special Someone, then someone else was going to have to fill in. And he didn't mind doing it. But even as she spoke to him, he sensed something deeper, something a tad more dramatic…a different cause than his own, and certainly one that he would never champion.

"Take heart, Merry…it will soon be over," she sighed. Merry was alarmed. He wasn't quite certain what she meant, but by all the signs, it almost seemed as though she wanted death.

"My lady," he said hesitantly. "You are fair, and brave…and have much to live for. And many love you. I know it isn't too late to turn aside. I know there isn't any point in hoping. But if I were a knight of Rohan, full of great deeds…but I'm not…I'm a hobbit! And I know that I can't save Middle Earth…"

Eowyn turned to look at him, marveling at his words and simple courage. Here was someone who spoke more sense than everyone put together.

"I just want to help my friends," Merry ended simply. "Frodo…Sam…Pippin… more than anything, I wish I could see them again."

She wanted to comfort him. Tell him he would. But still yet…would he? Could he? Her brother's words returned to her, and she thought hard. Yes. He might. He just might.

Just then, Theoden gave the orders. "Prepare to move out! Make haste! We ride through the night!"

Eowyn and Merry donned their helmets.

"To battle."

"To battle."


	16. Toasted Steward

Chapter 16

Toasted Steward

* * *

Meanwhile, Pippin and Adelaide were hunting down Gandalf. The two of them had met up together in the flaming city, and were now running around searching for the wizard. They both agreed that Denethor was off his rocker, and Faramir was in need of some rescuing. So they went a-searching for the wizard, the only one who could really do anything at the moment.

The finally found him as he was leading the men towards a particularly cruel group of orcs, and they began talking at once.

"Gandalf, you've got to do something—"

"—Denethor's lost his mind—"

"—He was crackers anyway—"

"—he's going to burn Faramir alive!" cried Pippin. Gandalf swiveled the horse around and stared at the two of them.

"Adelaide! I thought I told you to stay in the cell!"

"Gandalf, will you shut up and listen to Pippin?" Adelaide was enraged. "They got into the cells anyway!"

"Come quickly!" the wizard ordered, and swept Pippin up on Shadowfax. In the twinkling of an eye he had bounded away. Adelaide raced after them, trying her best to avoid the fighting and flames. They had halted near the courtyard, and a great winged beast of sizeable magnitude landed in front of them, wings spread wide, and slavering mouth wide in hunger. Shadowfax reared, but he was not frightened, this princely war-horse of men. Gandalf whipped his staff around to clutch in both hands; the rider was none other than the Witch-King, garbed in his fearsome attire and looking dead ahead at Gandalf. It was time to settle some debts. But Gandalf's words were harsh and bore no fear in them.

"Go back to the abyss!" he snarled. "Into the nothingness that awaits you and your master!"

"Do you not know death when you see it?" The Witch King laughed, his voice filled with gutteral contempt. "Old Man! This is my hour!" And he lifted his sword on high. With a mighty blast of wind, it erputed into flame, sending a red blast of heat upwards. Gandalf brandished his staff. But even as he did so, the slightest move from the Witch-King sent the staff shattering into a thousand fragments, and Shadowfax reared again, sending Gandalf sprawling to the ground. Pippin rolled a few yards away, and stood, unsheathing his sword.

"Gandalf!" he cried, and ran forward to help, but the winged beast stopped him in his tracks. The Witch-King bent over his white prey.

"You have failed," he whispered in his snake-silk voice. "The world of men shall fall."

Adelaide skidded to a halt as she rounded the corner. The Witch King looked up at her, hissed violently. She stared at him, feeling, for some strange reason, completely unafraid. This was the creature who had stabbed Frodo. This was the creature that would very soon get his ass kicked by a woman. But Adelaide knew she was not the one to do it. She was more concerned at the moment with filling her lungs with air. She gasped for breath, but felt no fear.

_Why is it I feel no more fear now?_

_Something more. There is something more here. _

Did she hear the word "alien" underneath the breath of that horrid black creature that stared so silently at her? Why couldn't she cringe from that blow? Why was it that Eowyn's words could slice and dice, but this thing of evil did nothing but blow a lot of hot air? Was it because she had detached herself? No...there was nothing she could do to detach herself from this world. But she was free. Free in herself because she knew her place in her own world and time, and knew herself in another world. She was one in two. And that made all the difference in the world. Funny how staring down a Nazgul could do that!

_Why, I'm real here! I really am a part of this after all! And I love it! I actually like being here! _

"I LOVE THIS PLACE!" Adelaide suddenly exhaled, smiling in delight. "I TOTALLY LOVE THIS WHOLE FUCKING WORLD!"

It seemed crazy. But she had never felt more true to herself than at that moment, in control of her body, her emotions, her actions. She felt no fear. She was ready to fight for what she believed in and loved.

It was not what the Witch King had expected. Where was the shriek of fear, or even the cringing and begging? Instead, the prophetess was proclaiming a love for all of Middle Earth, when it was about to be taken over by his Master, the Dark Lord! Was she not afraid for her life?

But Adelaide's body was on fire with energy. It pulsed through her veins excitedly as her mind connected suddenly and like lightning to everyone and everything. Her brain registered all armies all at once, both friends and foes alike. She was a part of everyone and everything, and it was all in her brain even as she was in theirs.

"HEY, YOU SON OF A BITCH, GUESS WHO JUST GREW UP?" Adelaide hooted with laughter. "CONSIDER YOURSELF OFFICIALLY SCREWED!"

As she spoke, a horn sounded, faintly at first, and then stronger. The Nazgul swiftly turned his head in surprise. The horn sounded very faint, but its clear tones were clear, carrying swiftly across the wind coming from the west, a clear day dawning for all at hand. The Nazgul gave a long, piercing shriek, and rose into the air, winging down towards the battlefield, while Adelaide helped Gandalf to his feet.

"You okay?"

"I'm alright," Gandalf breathed heavily, and dusted himself off. "Feeling slightly old, though. What will you do now?"

"What else? Let's go rescue Faramir before his dad fries his ass."

* * *

Down on the battlefield, the sun had risen in the sky, shoving the evil clouds away and creating a red dawn upon the hilltops. Blood-red shadows seeped across the ground like spilled wine as the horns sounded, and all of Gondor turned to behold this new wonder. Standing atop the hills overlooking Minas Tirith was the army of Rohan, their men perched upon their noble steeds, and deadly weapons poised in their hands. In the ranks of the foe, the orcs turned warily, and eyed one another in great uncertainty as they looked warily upon this new intrusion. Their eyes fought against the sunlight, which they greatly hated. More deadly to them, however, was the victorious air of the persons facing them, and the soldiers of Gondor gave a great cheer of gladness. Rohan had not deserted them.

Theoden looked out at the orcs before him, and rode before his troops. Eomer rode beside him, as did Gamling. In the army of Mordor, Potato was issuing his own orders.

"About-face! Form ranks, you swine!" he yelled ferociously, and his men hurried to do his bidding, turning their backs on the city and looking out towards the hills, their weapons poised for confrontation. But Theoden was smarter than that rabble, and looked to Eomer.

"Eomer, take your Eored down the left side! Gamling, follow the king's banner down the center. Take the company right, past the wall, and fear no darkness!"

As he went back and forth in front of his soldiers, he mistakenly overlooked Eowyn, garbed in her soldier's apparel, and Merry was sitting in front of her on the horse.

"Whatever happens," she whispered. "Stay close to me. I'll look after you." Merry gripped her arm. The army of Mordor had never looked so big before, nor so threatening, and the little hobbit of the Shire had a strange foreboding of what was to come. A single tear dropped from beneath his helmet, and he squeezed his lady's arm harder, trying to dig up whatever courage he had left. His heart was madly racing.

"Courage, Merry," she whispered. "Courage for our friends!"

The time had come for Theoden to address his men. All six-thousand or so of them. And as he rode by them, the front-line lowered their spears, and he went among them, sword wielded, and he struck the spears, testing their strength.

"Arise! Arise! Arise, Riders of Theoden! Spears shall be shaken!"

_Courage…_

"Shields shall be splintered!"

_Courage for…_

"A sword day—a red day…"

_Our…_

"Ere the sun rises!"

_Friends._

He turned, and the sun flashed upon his head, giving him the look of Michael the Archangel, with his halo, about to go down and defeat Satan and his imps of hell. His sword rang with a keen steel ring, and his mighty voice shook the hills themselves as his horse reared, and he himself gave the war cry.

"Death!"

"_Death!"_

"_DEATH!"_

"_D E A T H!"_

And the Riders accompanied his words, shouting in response, and even Eowyn took up the cry, raising her arm high, blood pounding in her temples. Merry sang the tune along with her.

_I cannot wait to see that day! When, together, side by side, we shall ride to renown, and great rejoicing! And when we defeat the enemy, we shall be looked upon with love and respect, and no one shall hinder our way into the world!_

_The fingers of my mind are stretching out and now I can see, I can connect, I realize now…_

_No running dream this._

Then the army of Rohan sped to the Enemy, and Eomer led them, his fierce voice splitting the air, and his men (and one woman and a hobbit) charged forward. The orcs looked at Pot desperately for orders, for fear had entered their hearts, and even Pot looked uncertain. He called for the loosening of arrows, and yet so few men seemed to fall under the deadly barrage!

"Fire at will!" he cried, panicking, and the orcs obeyed to a T. But still, so few men fell! And they kept coming! At last, the orcs turned tail, and fled back closer to the city, where the refuge was a little more certain. Pot went running after them. Nonetheless, they were caught up to, and the men began delivering their blows with their keen steel blades, hacking and slamming the orcs viciously. Spears were shaken indeed, and shields were splintered. Iron rang against iron, and bloodthirsty cries split the air, both human and inhuman. The grass was trampled upon, and made bloody with the sweat and blood of orcs and men. Victory seemed very near.

Eowyn and Merry took their time in veering off from the other men to dive into the fray of wherever the battle seemed thickest, but never did Eowyn seem to leave the side of her dear uncle, whom she had an affection for. Besides Eomer, he was all she had left, and loved him like a father. Merry too, put in his two cents worth (or maybe his million dollars) and (kicked some serious ass) slayed many orcs. Theoden raised his sword and hollered, "Victory!"

Unfortunately, victory was still a very long ways off.

* * *

In the room of tombs, Denethor had placed Faramir atop the bundles of sticks on the altar, and was now pouring at least five gallons of oil over himself and his son (mind you, oil was cheap in those days…in California, it's about $3.50 a gallon). Still dressed in that hideous black robe with the ridiculously-large fur collar and sleeves, the former Steward (we can assume he's officially "former" now, because he said so) was making ready to cremate himself. I myself highly doubt if Denethor was fully aware of the undertaking of such a painful task, for he was naturally a very dramatic man, and might have made an expert Shakespearean. But for all his drama and angst, he knew little of the pain he would undergo, and was most certainly out of his mind.

"Set a-firing our flesh," he instructed his servants, most of whom were afraid to disobey, and afraid to obey, at the same time. Only the golden-haired nincompoop, who was loyal to his master, had the courage to bow and take up the lighted brand, applying it to the wood. Denethor stretched out his arms, standing over his son.

Suddenly, the doors flew open as Gandalf burst into the room, followed by an irate Adelaide.

"Stay this madness!" Gandalf roared, as Adelaide ran over to the brier. She was halted in her tracks by the golden-haired nincompoop, holding his sword at level with her throat. But Denethor swung around, grabbed the lighted brand, and held it aloft, glaring at Gandalf like some sort of possessed demon.

"You may have triumphed on the field of battle for a day," he snarled. "But against the power that is risen in the East—there is no victory!"

And he flung down the lighted brand.

Instantly, the wood that had been soaked in oil sprang to life with little red and orange demons, licking viciously at the hem of his garment and the clothes of Faramir. Smoke filled the room, and Pippin gasped audibly. Adelaide swung her sword up, parried the blow from the golden-haired nincompoop (we still don't know his name, do we?) and kicked out with her foot, connecting with the man's hip.

Meanwhile, Gandalf urged Shadowfax forward, and the horse reared, knocking Denethor off his lofty height. Pippin sprang from his seat and landed next to Faramir, who was still unconscious. Using all his strength, Pippin managed to roll the great man from the brier, and onto the floor. He hastily began patting out the flames.

Adelaide, panting, ran to go help him, but the golden-haired nincompoop was on his feet again, and slashing viciously at the girl. She ducked and parried as best she could, but was not watching her footing. Soon the idiot had her backed against a wall, and Adelaide couldn't remember what Eomer had said about those sort of situations. But the blow she thought she would take never fell. Beregond, having left the battle at once upon hearing that Faramir was in trouble, sprang to her defense, his own sword blocking the blow and hurling the nincompoop out of the way. He shielded Adelaide, sword held aloft, waiting for the man to come on again.

"Thanks, dude!" Adelaide was breathless from all the running around, smoke, and fighting.

"My pleasure, Addy."

Pippin was trying to beat out the flames on Faramir when Denethor arose, his face twisted horribly.

"No!" he roared, going over and tackling the hobbit, shaking him and trying to burn him too. "You will not take my son from me!"

Gandalf saw this, and sprang in defense to Pippin, and Shadowfax reared again, knocking Denethor backwards onto the burning altar once more. Denethor banged his head, and saw stars. When they finally cleared again, his eyes took in the scene:

First Gandalf, staring at him sadly, but with no pity; Pippin, staring in horror; Adelaide, her head swiveled his way, her eyes wide in astonishment; Beregond shielding her; nincompoop forgetting his lord and running for his life; and lastly…the face of Faramir, who had turned his head to see why all the room was red. His eyes were open, and he gazed up on his father. And then it hit Denethor, hit him like a hundred-pound anvil—Faramir was alive, and no coward. Denethor had failed himself, and nobody else was to blame, save himself. Faramir was a hero, even more so than perhaps Boromir. His only son! Denethor, in that moment, regretted all harsh words and unspoken words of kindness and affection; all the love he might have shown his son was wasted upon another, and so maybe the line would not fail—but it would. The King would return.

Then the pain of the heat seared him, and he smelt his own flesh cooking and roasting, bits of it curling and the fat dripping off; pieces of his flesh fed the fire, and his hair was caught up in a fiery wreath. Then he cried out in pain and terror, and he leapt from the brier, a living mass of flames, slithering over him like fiery snakes, and like the god Shiva, his arms flailed; he danced along the corridor, and ran out from that place of death, and along the great parapet he ran, until he leapt off the edge, falling upon the city as a smoked and burned-out cinder, his blackened bones twisted like dead tree-limbs, and his clothes naught but ash.

"So passes Denethor, son of Ecthelion," Gandalf said gravely. Adelaide let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"Adelaide Edessa, did you just say 'good riddance to bad rubbish'?" Gandalf demanded.

"No, why?"

"But you certainly thought it."

"That's only because you were thinking the same thing, you old fogey. You can't fool me."


	17. Spotlight on Eowyn

Chapter 17

Spotlight on Eowyn

* * *

Meanwhile, back on the field…

Theoden had raised his sword high into the air, and had shouted quite loudly, "Victory!" He had smiled, feeling positively certain that nothing more could have gone wrong.

But it did.

Turning, he saw something that truly did not make his day. A great host of men were approaching from the rear of the battle, coming from the west in the mountains, and these men had no horses—they rode in gigantic pavillions seated upon the backs of massive Oliphaunts, like Sam and Frodo had seen. These mammoth creatures were later described by Merry:

"They were very tall and large in girth, and their legs were as thick as the tree trunks in Lothlorien. Their noses were like long gray hoses that pulled down in front of their faces and hung over their lower lips. Great curves tusks came from the sides of their mouths, and these were decorated with spikes or barbed wire (as Adelaide called it). Their backs were laden with divans and tents, which housed at least twenty men at a time, with sun-dark skin and painted faces. Some wore many pieces of fine gold, and others wore simple black outfits with black turbans and facial masks, their eyes painted black with cohl (as Adelaide described it)."

The Oliphaunts were not having a good day. Some of you history buffs may recall moments in ancient Roman history, when the people were defeated by the massive elephants brought from one country from another. If horses had difficulty in the mountains, how much more trouble might an Oliphaunt have had? Now they were on level ground, and the oddities on their backs made them itch, and to be driven into the fray of wild people was more than they could stand. Doubtless they would have liked to enjoy a nice repast in the shady fields of Africa. But the men pressed them on, for war was war, after all, and the size of their beasts gave them an advantage.

"Form ranks!" Theoden called to his men. "Back up! Turn around! Charge forward and attack!"

From above, you would have seen hundreds of little men on horseback turning from the city and racing outwards to meet the massive Oliphaunts. They came very close, riding in and baring their teeth, weapons held high. But even before they could get underneath the beasts, one swipe from the tusks sent them all flying, and a trunk wrapped around one man, lifting him screaming into the air, and crushing him like an orange. Other men and horses were trodden underfoot. Still others managed to duck and weave, and they sent their spears and arrows flying, penetrating the thick hide of the creatures and sending them scurrying around in horror and terror. It was like seeing a whole horde of mice attacking an elephant.

The battle was thick now with the sounds of human and animal screaming, the gutteral moans of wounded orcs, and the piercing shrieks and yells of bloodthirsty men, hungry for battle. The air was thick with the smell of blood, smoke, and sweat. And even as they rode against this new foe, Eomer had an idea, and picked up a fallen spear, which had lodged itself in the armor of an orc. He rode a little distance from the Oliphaunts, and then turned, facing the largest one down bravely. He hefted the spear, and then sent it flying. The spear lodged itself in the chest of the driver, and the men fell sideways, catching his spiked iron chest-plate on the ear of the beast. The oncoming Oliphaunt swerved to the left, nearly missing Eomer, and rampaged right into the side of another Oliphaunt, bringing it down as well. Eomer chuckled. Two with one spear. That was a tale for the grandkids.

Meanwhile, Eowyn and Merry were riding for their lives. They had ceased to cut down orcs once Eowyn discovered that the Oliphaunts were on the loose, and she handed the reins to Merry, shouting out "Left!" and "Right!" every so once in a while. Picking up a second sword, they charged directly between the legs of an Oliphaunt, and Eowyn sliced the front legs…and the back legs. The massive creature trumpeted loudly in anguish, for the blades had bitten deep, and nothing hurts so much as to have your back legs sliced in particularly tender spots. He fell to the ground, butt-first, and then keeled over, not wanting anything more to do with the whole warring business. His bulk crashed upon the ground, and Eowyn, not yet clear of his range, was thrown free of the saddle. Merry fell after her, and the horse reared, crushed by the massive Oliphaunt. Merry scrambled for cover, and Eowyn dodged to one side as the head fell between them both.

In the fray of the battle, they lost track of each other.

"Merry!" called Eowyn.

"Eowyn!" called Merry. But they were lost to each other. And they ahd no more time to search each other out. Orcs were attacking them, and they whirled to be on their guard.

* * *

Meanwhile, Adelaide, Pippin, Gandalf, and most of the soldiers were trying to keep the orcs out of their barricaded little room. The guards were holding planks of wood near the door, and anything else heavy, but there still came the insistant pounding of the troll from outside, who really was making an effort to get inside. Pippin had just a bit of time to sit and rest for a minute, near to Gandalf.

"I didn't think it would end this way," he said softly. Gandalf peered down at him.

"End?" he said, smilingn slowly. "End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver clouds. And then you see it."

"What, Gandalf? What do you see?" Pippin was breathless, his eyes already far-off as if seeing whatever it was there was to be seen. Gandalf smiled slowly, his own eyes distant.

"White shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise."

Pippin smiled.

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"No. No it isn't."

Adelaide popped up from where she had been helping to barricade the doors. "Hey, while y'all are talking about heaven, I think I'm going to slip over the railing here and see if I can get out."

"Adelaide Edessa, you'll do no such thing."

"Like hell I won't. I feel like James Bond right now. I'm invincible."

"You are NOT. The heady feeling of being in love with this world is new to you, and I realize you're on cloud-9, as you like to say, but you will please come off it and realize, too, that we're in the middle of a war."

"Right! Exactly! And I want to find something besides this gown! I figure I could borrow from a relatively clean corpse. Do you think anyone would mind? That's not a desecration of the dead, is it?"

"You certainly are not aiming for fashion, are you?" Gandalf mused. "Very well, if you don't mind a dead man's sweaty clothing, feel free to borrow."

Adelaide made a face. "I didn't need to know about the sweat. I could have lived without that knowledge."

"If you have no desire to make that kind of sacrifice, I suggest you stay here."

She made her "pout" face, but Gandalf had a point. Who wanted to steal clothes off dead people anyway? She lifted up her sword, observed dark orc blood on it. She studied it closely.

"You know," she said presently. "I wonder what orc blood looks like underneath a microscope. And then we could do tests on it to see if it holds a cure for cancer, or something. Or maybe it could be a chemical for insect repellent."

"Adelaide Edessa, this is no time to contemplate the chemistry of orc blood!"

"Well you're contemplating heaven, so I don't see what the big difference is," Adelaide huffed angrily.

"My goodness, you have quite a newfound inner strength, my dear."

She smiled slightly and blinked. "It feels very odd, this sense of power. Like I could do anything. I don't feel anymore fear."

"Don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Have you forgotten so suddenly about Frodo? Does your heart not fear for him?"

Oh, Frodo! Adelaide had almost completely forgotten about him! Gandalf watched a mix of emotions pass by her face, and then he took her hand, patting it gently. "It is a price you pay if you choose something above and beyond your natural capacity to love another creature. Would you tie yourself to him? If he asked you, would you do it?"

"I would walk through hell for him."

Gandalf's brows drew together in anxiety.

"That is something I am very afraid of."

* * *

Down on the field of battle, Theoden was wildly attacking orc after orc, and had even helped in the slaying of an entire Oliphaunt. But even as he hewed away at his foe, he stopped sharply to notice a peculiar lad who was fighting with him, a few yards away. The lad was slim in form, and had a particular tint of gold to his hair, and his voice was slightly edged with a female trill. His movements, too, were like those of an expert dancer, and really, he felt as though he should know this young man—but he did not. He couldn't figure out where he had seen or heard him before. Certainly, he was of Rohan, but who could it possibly be? (And don't give it away, even if you happen to know)

Suddenly, there was an unearthly screech that shook the foundations of the earth, and the men turned, fear freezing their hearts as the blood in their veins trembled to behold the Witch-King, sailing down upon the back of his great winged beast. And he went straight for King Theoden. The winged beast's mouth opened, and as quickly as a snake strikes, it coiled and lashed out, maw closing over Theoden's head, torso, and horse's body, picking him up and swinging him around before launching him off into the air, where he fell not a few yards away, his body caught beneath that of his horse, Snowmane. Theoden was paralyzed with fear.

The lad who had been fighting watched with horror as this event took place, and now Eowyn raced to go help her noble uncle who meant so much to her. Already the Witch King leered over Theoden, who trembled helplessly beneath the horse. The bones of his body were hopelessly smashed; his legs were twisted at odd angles, and he could barely lift his head. Heart pounding, he waited for the blow.

"Feast on his flesh!" he Witch-King ordered his precious winged pet. But Eowyn was up and running, and placed herself directly between the beast and her beloved uncle.

"You will not touch him!" she snarled bitterly. The Witch-King contemplated her, not knowing that she was actually a girl.

"Do not come between the Nazgul and his prey!" he hissed, and the winged beast reared, prepared to strike. But Eowyn whirled, and a deft stroke she dealt, swift and deadly, cleaving the head from the body in two rapid strokes. Then she sprang backwards as the mammoth creature sank to the ground in dying agony, the Nazgul trapped beneath.

But not for long.

Out of the wreckage rose the black spectre, crown tall and menacing, as he turned on her with a deadly look in his eye. He stroke towards the trembling girl, a mace in hand. This mace was by far the most deadly Eowyn had ever seen; it was tipped with spikes and had a diamond-shape, so that the weight lay in the center, able to crush bone and slice flesh. Grimly he swung at her, and she ducked, avoiding his blow. A second time he hurled it, and she staved his blow with her own sword, but at his third swing she put up her shield; the mace shattered it into pieces and it crushed the bone in her arm, breaking it asunder. Eowyn screamed with the pain and cradled her arm to her chest, falling backwards over Snowmane, her heart pounding.

The Nazgul reached down and gripped her by the throat, hauling her up to face him. Never before had Eowyn known such terror deep in her heart, yet she knew that if she were whole again at that moment, she would take the chance to kill him. She did not see Merry, who was crawling up behind the Nazgul. He had seen what had taken place, and his heart wrenched for Theoden and for Eowyn, both of whom were like family to him. The Nazgul did not notice Merry either, but kept his attention focused on Eowyn.

"You fool!" he laughed. "No living man can kill me!"

At that moment, Merry's little sword came up and down behind the Nazgul; it pierced through the back of his leg through flesh and sinew, and the Nazgul reared back in pain, roaring through the mask. It was then that Eowyn stood, and reached up, pulling off her helmet, revealing her long golden tresses and her feminine face. The Nazgul stared in shocked surprise.

"I am no man!" Eowyn said triumphantly, and then gave a bloodcurtling yell of savagery as she raised her sword with her good hand and drove it between mantle and crown, directly where his face should have been. The Nazgul gave a chilling wail, and then Eowyn's sword shook, splintering into a thousand shards. A great wind whipped over the plains. Then the Nazgul began to crumple up like a crushed can, his form withering and bending until his remains were dispersed into the wind, and naught was left of him to ever remember in that world. Merry was slumped over on his side, his arm wounded from the blow he had struck, and Eowyn's arm too, was broken, and her other sore from inflicting the death's-blow against her foe. Now she fell to the ground, hardly able to see.

But it was most certainly not the end…not by a long shot.

* * *

"Late as usual!"

The orc captain (second in command to Pot) strode across the harbor of Gondor, near the port of the river, his ranks close on either side of him. They were awaiting the men from the black corsairs, as the ships had just arrived into dock. The orcs, however, were mighty impatient.

"Come on, get off your duffs, you bilge-rats! Come on!"

A man leapt from the ship and landed on the dock, sword in hand. His face was noble and fair; his eyes, though dark, sparkled, and he was certainly no sailor. Nor was he looking anything like the orcs had expected. They backed up hesitantly, uncertain of this new conformity. Then a golden-haired Elf leapt down beside him, and on the other side, a dwarf scrambled over the side of the ship and stood, axe bared, near the man. They faced the orcs with unswerving hatred and interest. The orc captain was shocked only a minute longer before he gave direct orders.

"Attack them!" he snarled. Aragorn raised his sword, and Gimli grinned.

"No cheating this time, lad…there's plenty for the both of us. And may the best dwarf win."

Legolas smiled.

As Aragorn ran forward, the orcs suddenly screamed and took to retreating as fast as their motors could carry them. For behind the man came surging like a green wave a host of green men, their clothes rotted, and their bodies like those of the dead.

The Dead Army had come to call, and pay their debt to the King, who had returned!

* * *

Meanwhile, the battle was most certainly turning in favor of the good guys (Rohan, Gondor, and whoever else was fighting on their side). There were still five Oliphaunts running around like crazy, but the orcs were slowly diminishing as the men charged their prey and slashed them into ribbons. The field was littered with armor, limbs, and dead bodies; the smell of battle penetrated the nostrils.

Eowyn had met up with Pot, who was not really having a good day. At first, things had been high and mighty, and he'd enjoyed making mincemeat out of the city. But he hadn't counted on Rohan, nor this new horror of millions of green zombies flooding the field and taking the upper hand. So when he spotted Eowyn, he went directly after her. She was wounded, and would not get very far. But she surprised him with a very keen upward cut, striking off his left arm. He roared in pain, and she scrambled away, thinking she might have disabled him for good.

On another part of the field, Legolas and Gimli were once again counting their orcs, and a very large Oliphaunt was disrupting their count. It was by far the most frightened of the bunch, and obviously had no idea who was good or bad. But it was large, and it was a pain in the butt. So when Aragorn looked over at Legolas, the Elf took the hint, and began the not-so-very-great-task of killing off the beast. Running alongside it, he leaped upon the beast, climbing from edge to edge with Elven-skill, until he caught at a cable which attached the divan-tent to the beast. Cutting below his leg, he managed to free the cable, and the divan slid off to the other side, whilst the Elf worked his way up, letting it pull him up to the top of the beast. What few warriors there were there, he killed, and then he ran along the back of the Oliphaunt, drawing out three arrows.

He strung them and fired directly into the head of the Oliphaunt.

The beast trumpeted wildly in pain, and crashed down upon the ground. Legolas leaped from his head to the trunk, and flipped neatly to the ground, looking casually at Gimli, who looked as though he wanted to spit at the Elf.

"That still only counts as one!" he growled.

* * *

Eowyn crawled back over to her uncle, who lay expiring beneath his horse. As she came over to his side, his weary eyes opened softly, then blinked in surprise.

"I know your face," he said softly, tenderly, as he had once done long ago. "Eowyn."

She felt tears coming on at once, for what reason she did not know. He was alive; she wasn't going to let him perish; everything was going to be alright…she passed her gloved hand over his brow and smoothed back his hair, soothing him calmly.

"My body is broken," said Theoden.

_Alas that these evil days should be mine! The young die, the old linger, and that I should live to see the last days of my house_

"No, no…" Eowyn blinked back the tears. She could not recall when she had last cried; it seemed as though the water had been sucked out of her…

_why can I cry now when all hope is gone do not leave me you cannot leave me oh where is Aragorn and Adelaide and Gimli and the rest where are they I need them I feel so alone…_

"I'm going to save you," she whispered. But Theoden smiled and touched her cheek with his fingers.

"You already did," he said softly. "I go now…to the house of my forbears…in whose company I shall not now be ashamed of."

_No, no, no, nononononononononononono….._

_I've not seen my niece smile for a long time. She was but a young girl when they brought her father home, shot dead at the hands of orcs. She then watched her mother die of despair, and soon it was that she came to me, doomed to wait upon an old doddering man who should have loved her as a father. Eowyn, Eowyn…_

"You need to let me go," Theoden said gently. Eowyn was not crying yet…but she would be. Better that she had stayed, but yet if she had not…

He leaned in as if to say something else, but with his last and final breath he whispered her name sweetly, kindly, like an expiring breath of a sweet fragrance.

"Eowyn!"

And she leaned over the body of her lord and uncle, and this time there was no dam strong enough to hold back the tears that had wanted to come flowing forth for so many nights, ever since Grima had darkened the doorstep…


	18. A Healer in Need is a King Indeed

Chapter 18

A Healer in Need is a King Indeed

* * *

Adelaide was wondering why she hadn't seen Eowyn yet when she chanced to look over the edge of the city and saw a headless Nazgul-mount. Eowyn had done it. She had defeated the Witch King, just like Tolkien had written. Now her friend lay prostrate over the body of her uncle; Adelaide could see it even from her height; she couldn't ever mistake Eowyn even is disguise, not for a moment, never, ever! She nearly jumped over the railing, such was her anxiety to go be with her friend. But Gandalf held her back.

"Not now," he said. "Look!"

The army of Green Ghosts had arrived.

If anyone has ever seen "The Naked Jungle" with Charleton Heston, you get the idea. Adelaide briefly thought of the army ants, the "marabunta," as the Army of the Dead swept across the Pelennor Fields and surged like a tsunami wave through the orc-infested corridors of Minas Tirith. There were millions of them. Trillions. Bajillions and Gomagnillions. Then she ran out of letters in the alphabet and just settled for "a whole lot of dead guys."

The door that the soldiers were trying hard to barricade was suddenly left alone. Some of the ghosts peeked in, but upon seeing the White Wizard and the Gondorian soldiers, they let them alone. As soon as the way looked safe, Adelaide jumped over a dead orc and started running down the passages and stairs and streets to gain access to the main gate. She climbed desperately over the bodies, her heart beating in a quick, funny way. She knew Eowyn wasn't dead, of course her friend wasn't. She'd live to marry, of course, duh…so why was she so suddenly terrified? So much for victorious confidence and courage!

_To enter into a fantasy, to become that, to become something you are not…that is what pulls you away, gives you strength, makes you into something more than what you are. It is the human element of your true self that keeps pulling you back out of the fantasy and away from the absurd._

_

* * *

_

It was over.

The Pelennor Fields stood in a haze of smoke and dust; the ground littered by corpses of both hero and villain. Banners fluttered in the breeze, ghostly reminders of the grim battle which had just been fought. The air was thick with the odors of sweat and blood.

"Merry!" cried Pippin. He, Adelaide, and Gandalf had come down from the city and now stood among the wreckage, eyes cast over the ghastly visage. Adelaide's mouth fell open and stayed like that for ten minutes. Pippin began running around the field looking for his friend and calling his name, _Merry! Merry!_ Gandalf walked forward to meet Aragorn, who stood a little distance away with Legolas, Gimli, and some of the men of Rohan, including Eomer.

The King of the Dead Army faced Aragorn on the field. His men stood behind him, expecting payment.

"Release us," he said. Gimli shook his head.

"Bad idea! Very handy in a tight spot, these lads…despite the fact they're dead!"

"You gave us your word!" The zombie king did not look happy at all. But Aragorn smiled at them and spread his hands.

"I hold your oaths fulfilled," he said quietly. "Go. Be at peace."

The zombie-king sighed, smiling, and a sudden wind then picked up his spirit, along with the army's, and they were blown away upon the wind, carried away to a peaceful resting place. And when Aragorn turned, Gandalf was there, and he bowed before him, thinking that he had done well indeed, for he was wise, ready to come into his own very soon. The King had returned indeed. Together, they began searching through the slain upon the field, looking for friends, relatives, or other beloved ones. The men of Rohan were already shifting through the corpses, lugging away the orcs to be burned in a massive pile, and bearing away the dead or wounded men for proper burial. The air was thick with the stench of bodies and smoke. A flash of gold caught Aragorn's eye, and he half-turned to see the glint of golden hair laying in long tresses over the blood-stained ground.

Eomer screamed.

_I fear neither pain, nor death_

_

* * *

_

They bore both Eowyn and Theoden back to Minas Tirith. Theoden's body was properly washed and re-dressed, and set among the tombs of the Kings for the moment; Eomer wanted to take him back for burial in Rohan. But the brave man, though he saw to the business of his uncle with great sorrow and dignity; he utterly collapsed and was like a child around his sister. Eowyn had lain across her uncle's body for almost an hour, and, in grief and physical pain, slipped into an unconscious state of mind and body. She looked quite dead, so no one blamed Eomer for crying or insisting on the best of care for his beloved sister. She was taken to the Houses of Healing, where the city physicians were tending to the wounded.

"A woman has come to the aid of Gondor! That is strange indeed!" said one physician, who peered over Eowyn like a scientist in a dissection lab. "How valiant are these people of Rohan, sturdy in their women as in their men!"

"Get you back and let me have care of the lady," Aragorn said firmly. "She is wounded, but with my skill she will live to see another day. Fetch me athelas, sir, and a basin of warm water."

"Should she not rather be bled?"

Dr. Aragorn gave the man his what-kind-of-a-fucked-up-idiot-are-you-anyway look, and the physician retreated to fetch the athelas. Moments later, Aragorn was bathing the young woman's face, setting the arm in a cast and sling, and murmuring a prayer for quick recovery while Eomer looked on in worry. Aragorn was a master-healer, and knew precisely how to handle this situation…indeed, he wanted to handle this case, not because he felt bad for Eowyn but because he needed to heal himself. By the physical action of his attention to the young woman, he cleansed himself of the guilt he felt. She had gone to battle seeking death because he'd popped her romantic bubble. But now, doing this, he hoped to redeem himself and her.

He hoped yet for her friendship. She was a strong, beautiful woman, and a blessing to know in mind and heart.

* * *

Adelaide was not allowed into the Houses of Healing while Aragorn was at work with Eowyn. Gandalf did not want her distracting Aragorn from his work, and so kept her busy with small tasks. Adelaide cried and lagged at her duties, wanting instead to hit her head against a wall or else do something to get rid of the boiling ache inside her heart. It was only when Aragorn and Eomer emerged that Adelaide dropped what she was doing, shoved past both men without a word, raced inside the infirmary, and did not come back out.

"How long will it take for the arm to mend?" Eomer asked.

"It will be in a sling for some time, though with the care I have given her, the bones shall knit fast, and she will take but a month or so to fully recover."

"I hold you blameless in this matter," Eomer said to Aragorn, as they walked the corridors of Minas Tirith. "I did not really see how fond my sister was of you, and yet I knew she was more alive in your presence. She seemed to be more so, anyway, and you have always spoken fairly of her. Your truth and nobility would not allow you to speak falsely." He added, with some hesitation, "Besides, I think she would have ridden with the host anyway."

Aragorn sighed. "But that is not how it should have been. I would have had her kept safe in the camp."

"So would I…and my uncle…and many others who love her. But Eowyn has always had a mind of her own, and a will of iron; it burst upon her cage today and shattered the bars. She probably felt free for the first time."

"You have thought her sheltered?"

"She has the heart of a man, and yet the outer beauty of a woman. Her courage is no less than mine, and this I knew. She never liked to sit and sew, though her fingers are talented."

Aragorn was quiet for a moment, and Eomer put his hand on his shoulder. "My lord, trouble yourself little. In regard to you and my sister, I only know that she chased after a false trail, and yet you never led her to believe so. It was all friendship on your part, and a mistake on hers, but she will learn. As Feodral might say, she'll get over it. Now, come. There are other matters we must concern ourselves with. Gandalf awaits us in the hall, and we must discuss our next course of movement against the Enemy."

It was evening, and Pippin was still searching for Merry. He had called until his throat was raw; turned over bodies and weapons; searched until his eyes were sore. A small sound caught his attention, and he ran forward towards the dead carcass of an oliphaunt, stuck full of arrows. An orc lay across a bundle with a startlingly-familiar, fuzzy foot. Pippin heaved with all his might, threw off the orc, and turned Merry onto his back. His friend was alive, with slight cuts to his face, and he was sore, but he was alive.

"I thought you'd never find me," the hobbit told his friend in a weak voice. "Are you going to leave me?"

"No, Merry," Pippin said gently, and his voice was full of grave responsibility. "I'm going to take care of you."

* * *

Adelaide sat beside Eowyn's cot and held her friend's uninjured hand. The light outside had faded into night, and dark quiet covered the halls—a welcome change from the night before. Adelaide had stayed for five hours just holding Eowyn's hand and talking to her, trying to tell a story, or to apologize, or to recall adventures and past times together. But just remembering everything from bygone days brought fresh tears to her eyes, and she cried for a long time. She missed Frodo, missed her sweet days in the Shire, missed the fun with Eowyn in Rohan, and missed even the Elves of Rivendell and Lothlorien. And after a while, Adelaide fell asleep, her head nestled in the nook between Eowyn's mail-chained side and elbow.

When she woke up hours later, Adelaide's whole body ached from her position, and her mouth felt dry. Her stomach growled, and she realized that she hadn't eaten for almost 24 hours. She blinked owlishly in the dim light. Eowyn's hand, resting in her own, felt warmer. Good! Adelaide's lips twitched in a slight smile. She had a headache and red, swollen eyes from crying so much. But Eowyn was on the mend.

Good.

The world was starting to look bright again after all!

_When the White Lady of Rohan had been tended to, she awoke one night and went to her window for fresh air. She knew not what drew her hither, but as she looked out, the moon cast light upon her fair face, and she saw watching her from across the way Faramir, son of Denethor, and both thought each other fair and beautiful, like rare pearls that would otherwise never have been found. Healed he was too, in body and spirit and mind, and now he looked upon her, and thought her fair, like a lily of the valley. _

_And she blushed under his gaze, feeling the familiar heat enter her heart, as it had so often done in Aragorn's presence, yet now she felt attracted in a new and different way. _

_And the sun had not yet set._

_

* * *

_

"Frodo has passed beyond my sight," Gandalf said softly, striding about the courtroom of the former Steward. His soft-soled boots made no echo as his white robes swept about him in a feverish fit of pacing. Eomer, Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn stood around him, looking down at the floor and thinking hard. Aragorn's head was tipped upwards, looking to the sky in agitation.

"If Sauron had the Ring, we would know it," he said impatiently.

"It's only a matter of time!" Gandalf exclaimed. "We have won the battle, yes, but within the walls of Mordor, our enemy is regrouping."

"Let him stay there," Gimli snapped. He was seated upon the seat of the late Denethor (God rest his soul), smoking. "Let him rot! Why should we care?"

Gandalf turned to him, a look of annoyance passing over his face. "Because ten thousand orcs stand between Frodo and Mt. Doom," he said. He stopped pacing and looked out blankly. The others looked at his back, worried. Then the wizard shook his head, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"I've sent him to his death!"

Aragorn spoke up, his eyes like fire.

"No," he said firmly. "You have not sent him on a fool's errand, Gandalf. You have not sent him to his death. Frodo needs time, and safe passage across the plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that."

"How?" asked a skeptical Gimli. Aragorn turned to him.

"Draw out Sauron's armies. Empty his lands," he said, ignoring Gimli's surprised coughing. "Then we march on the Black Gate, keeping Sauron's Eye fixed upon us. Keep him blind to all else that moves."

Legolas smiled. "A diversion."

"We cannot achieve victory by strength of numbers," said Eomer.

"Perhaps not," said Aragorn. "But we can give Frodo the chance he needs."

"Sauron will suspect a trap," Gandalf said warningly. "He will not take the bait."

Aragorn smiled knowingly. "Oh, I think he will."

Gimli shrugged. "Certainty of death…small chance of success…what are we waiting for?"


	19. Singing New Tunes

Chapter 19

Singing New Tunes

* * *

"My lady?"

Adelaide didn't even bother to correct Legolas. She was so tired she didn't even care who called her what anymore. They stood in the empty corridor, staring at each other. Adelaide had not changed her gown for three days, nor had she bathed. She smelled horrible, her hair was a disaster, and she was covered with bruises and small cuts. Legolas had never seen her looking so tired, not even after her adventure at Isenguard. He tried to think of something prudent to say.

"Will the lady Eowyn be alright?" he inquired politely.

"Of course," Adelaide said, a little crossly. _Bug off already, Legolas you twit_.

"And you, lady? How do you fare?"

"I fare just fine. I would like some water, though. I'm very thirsty."

"Here, have some from my pouch," Legolas handed her his flask, and Adelaide tilted it back, letting the cool water slide over her parched tongue and down her dry throat. She guzzled the entire thing, and then stood there, breathing hard, feeling sore all over, and very tired. Then she sighed.

"What was the meeting all about?"

"Meeting; what meeting?"

"Oh, bullshit; don't 'what meeting?' me. I mean the one you had just now. I came out of the little hospital over here, and you, Aragorn, Gandalf, Gimli, and every other important person came filing out. What was the meeting about?"

"Our next move regarding Frodo," Legolas said, somewhat stiffly. "It has been decided that we shall march upon the Black Gate, and give Frodo some time to cross the plains of Gorgoroth, so that he may achieve his mission quickly, and without hazard."

Adelaide's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "Well, now, isn't that exciting! When do we leave?"

"Who's 'we'?"

"Don't give me that bullshit either. I'm a free American, and I'll join the army if I want to. I have a right…I'd say I have more a right to fight than any other person out there! Frodo's my fiancé, and what's more, I happen to love Middle Earth very much already, so I have a double reason for wanting to fight! I haven't hardly done anything anyway, so that gives me a third reason, HAH!"

"Frodo isn't your fiancé," Legolas pointed out.

"What's it to you if suddenly he is?" Adelaide snapped.

"Unless he's placed a ring upon your finger, you have no ties to him. I suggest you let go of him, expect the worst, in the event that he does not return. What will you do? For you to hope is folly. I know that when someone lets his hopes fly high, only to be brought down…do you think I wish you hurt? Forget him, lady. You are not tied to him, no need to tie yourself to him. Otherwise, you burden yourself, and you should not do so! You are young, you are beautiful, you have life within you! It is madness to let this emotion you have for him shut all other doors."

Adelaide suddenly blazed like a branded tiger.

"And what business is it of yours if I DO decide to bind myself needlessly—for all that you THINK you know, Mr. Hot-Shot! Who the hell made you king of my life, eh? Who the hell told you that it was okay to poke your nose into my business, tell me what to do and who to be? How dare you tell me to forget the one man in my life that I love, have loved, and will always love! You know jack-shit about my relationship with Frodo, and that's all you'll ever know because you refuse to accept it! Get it through your head once and for all, you fucking, pointy-eared bastard: FRODO AND I LOVE EACH OTHER. I DO NOT, WILL NOT, AND CANNOT EVER LOVE YOU THE SAME WAY. Don't make me draw you a picture, either! Get over it, and get over me! I'm done with you!"

She stomped away towards the door, turned, and held her head high. "For your information, I WILL go fight for the man I love, since he's doing a grand and noble thing for me, too. And if you try to stop me, you'll be sorry."

Legolas watched her go. Her insults towards him did not sting so much as did her words concerning Frodo. She and the hobbit had a bond that he would never be able to break. Adelaide and Frodo enjoyed a sort of invisible force-field that kept all others out and sheltered their devotion towards one another. The American and the Middle-Earthen would probably hit a home-run before Legolas ever managed halfway over to first base.

And that made the Elf very angry.

* * *

Adelaide stalked through the corridors and climbed the stairs towards the tallest tower she could find. Her fighting spirit, kindled again, rose up in challenge against anyone and anything who threatened her, the world she had fallen in love with, and her personal beloved that really needed to finish his trip and take her back to the Shire, where they could enjoy some…precious moments.

No pun intended.

_I do. I do want to marry him and settle down with him and have a family with him. I could do it. I could live here and manage just fine. I want to have his kids and take them on field trips everywhere. I'll continue to learn, too. I want to visit the places I've never seen. I want to meet people and creatures I never thought existed. I want to dive into this world, learn of it, read its history, get in on everything. And I can be a wife and mother and teacher and friend. I really can! I know I can! _

She stared out at the black mountains hemming in Mordor. Somewhere, her beloved was running around trying to get the Ring to Mt. Doom. Crazy, crazy! Was Mr. Tolkien turning in his grave yet—to know that a young American woman had the biggest affection for the hero of his story? Or maybe he meant for the whole world to fall in love with Middle Earth, as Adelaide had done, through a character. Maybe she had come to love the world through her love for one little hobbit. Her courage was fueled by it. Her body was inflamed with it. Somewhere out there was Frodo, locked in a tower, and he needed her. He needed all his friends, particularly Sam, but Sam was coming.

* * *

Frodo lay inert upon the stone floor of the orc tower, stripped of his clothes and covered from the waist down with a heap of dirty rags, smells permeating his olfactory nerves and sending nauseating alarms to his brain, but he could not move or do much else. A throbbing pain was in his chest and in his head, but as he slowly opened his eyes, he saw that his present situation was anything but jolly.

The orc tower was situated upon a steep crag that jetted sharply down into an abyss of swirling smoke and other unpleasant smells or worse; the tower itself was hewn out of black granite with crude but cunningly-shaped rooms and stairwells. Instruments of torture littered the unhappy place, along with mining tools, armor, and various orc gear and other sorts of tools and equipment. Lights could be seen in few of the windows, and an awful ruckus was coming from the basement, where the orcs were feeding. Frodo heard these sounds and smelt those smells with horror, and as he raised his head, he could distinctly hear two orcs fighting behind him.

These two orcs had taken Frodo to the tower, Gorbag and Shagrat, and they had unwound him from his mummy-like encasement by Shelob, and then they proceeded to strip him of everything he owned. They tied him up brutally, and threw him in a corner, covering his maleness with a bunch of filthy rags, probably from an earlier victim. Shagrat and Gorbag were going through the stripped items, discarding this and that, and finally coming upon the Elvish shirt of mithril that Frodo had worn. Shagrat held it up eagerly, observing it with greedy eyes and lustful heart. Gorbag immediately picked up his sword.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "Hands off that shiny shirt! That's mine!"

"This is going to the Great Tower, along with everything else," Shagrat snarled viciously. "You know orders!"

Gorbag growled low in his throat and made a spring at Shagrat, and the two began tussling over the shiny shirt. Frodo lay fearfully on the floor, not daring to cry out, his whole body rigid with terror. He felt at his throat for the Ring and gasped.

It was gone!

Not knowing what to do or how to do it, Frodo wept quietly, thinking his quest was doomed. They had the Ring. Sauron would get it. And all would be in vain. The Shire would burn; the Westfold would fall; kings would be toppled, and evil would come to reign. He shuddered, inconsolable.

Gorbag finally managed to shove Shagrat down the hole that led to the basement, where the orcs were feeding. Slops of porridge went everywhere, and the general ruckus was stilled for a moment. Gorbag poked his head down the hole.

"The scum tried to knife me! Kill him!"

Loud cheers accompanied this, and the orcs set to work destroying one another in a general brawl. But throughout the hubbub, Shagrat managed to crawl away, moving slowly towards another flight of stairs that led to where his precious prisoner lay.

Meanwhile, upon another flight of stairs, our hero, Samwise Gamgee, was slowly toiling along, intent on saving his master from the horrible fate which awaited him. As he made his way past orc corpses and instruments of torture and death, he listened to the sounds around him, and judged to the best of his knowledge that the orcs had no idea he was there. Aside from the brawl he had just heard, the place was very still, and did not seem to hold much immediate threat to him. He continued his way up, panting slightly. He still carried all his cooking gear and Elven rope, along with the glass of the Lady Galadriel, and he rightly felt that he'd be at least twenty-odd pounds lighter by the time the entire trip was over and done with.

Suddenly, ahead of him on the staircase, there appeared three orcs, grumbling, and making their way downstairs. Sam gripped Sting in his hand. The orcs could not yet see him, but they'd be able to see his shadow. Posing as a mighty Elven warrior, Sam let loose a ferocious growl, as ferocious as a gardener from the Shire could make it, and lifted Sting high. From the orcs' point of view, it was a little more than a mighty Elven warrior; it was something cross between a bull and a man, with sharp horns and a very nasty growl. A beast was loose in the castle! Quickly, they turned to flee, but as Sam came into view, the orcs stared only for a minute in absolute astonishment before charging after him. Sam weaved and dodged, lashing out with Sting.

"That's for Mr. Frodo!" he yelled, cutting down each orc in succession. "And for the Shire! AND THAT'S FOR MY OLD _GAFFER_!"

Frodo struggled at his bonds frantically. He twisted and wriggled violently, until at last Shagrat's head appeared.

"Stop your squeaking you filthy little maggot, or I'll stick you!" the orc snarled, nose dripping blood and snot. Suddenly, he went rigid and stood up straight, mouth wide open in surprise. Frodo stared at him in surprise. A blue blade, bright as a star, thrust through the armor of the orc, on the other side of his chest. The head of Samwise Gamgee appeared overtop the orc's.

"Not if I stick you first!" he growled.

"Sam!" Frodo cried in amazement and happiness. "Is it really you? Then you're not…oh Sam, I'm so sorry…sorry for everything!" His eyes spoke of true contrition. Sam just blushed.

His shoulders sagged. "It's hopeless," he whispered. "The mission has failed…Sam, they took everything…they took It! They took the Ring!"

Sam smiled knowingly. "Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but they didn't." He reached into his pocket and withdrew the Ring, still on its chain. "I thought I'd lost you," he said. "So I took it. Just for safe-keeping."

"Sam, you're a marvel!" Frodo gasped, and then stared at the Ring. "Sam," he said quietly. "Give it to me."

Sam withdrew the Ring, seeing the mad glare come back into his master's eyes. He wanted to shield his master from whatever it was that would hurt him, and wanted nothing worse to happen. Enough had been done by the power of that hated hoop of gold.

"Sam! Give me the Ring!"

Sam held it out reluctantly, and Frodo grabbed it out of his hands, putting it around his neck. As the Ring hung down by his chest again, Frodo looked back up wearily at Sam.

"You must understand," he said. "It is my burden."

Sam understood.

"We'd best find you some clothes," he said quietly. "You can't go around Mordor in naught but your skin."

Embarrassed by this enlightened observation, Frodo nodded.

* * *

Adelaide came down from the tower and sat on the edge of the balcony overlooking the battle field, straddling the ledge and swinging her feet boyishly. She was too excited to go to sleep. Then, while thinking about the battle, Legolas' mooning, and everything else, she saw Aragorn striding across the lawn, and obviously taking no notice of her. He made his way to the throne room, with a bowling ball tucked under his arm. Of all the silly things, there was a war to prepare for, and Aragorn was going bowling! Oh, wait, that wasn't a bowling ball, that was the palantir. Oh, well, if that idiot wanted to talk to Sauron, he was welcome to do so, it wasn't any of Adelaide's business. Then she relented. Aragorn was probably still sore over her harsh words several nights ago, and she hadn't yet apologized. Maybe that would be a good thing to do before the final battle…to apologize and be forgiven.

Aragorn walked into the darkened throne room, eerie shadows cast upon the wall by the tall, forbidding figures of marble on either side. The cold floor echoed with his soft footsteps; he could see his face in the polished seat of the throne. Huh, it might have been symbolic. And then he placed the palantir down before the throne, kneeled down properly to look at it, and uncovered it. It glowed from within with a strange orange flame, but Aragorn seemed not to fear this as he grasped the palantir. A jolt of fire shook the length of his arm, but he did not blanch yet, this strong, true King of Gondor, and he picked up the orb, looking directly into its fiery center.

"Sauron!" he whispered. "It is I."

The Eye, which had since been watching Aragorn, now widened in fear and disbelief, hardly able to comprehend the fact that throughout all these battles, the man had simply not died. There was a challenge now, to be had. The heir of Numenor, of Gondor itself, was still alive, and obviously very high and mighty in his claims to strength and power. Sauron trembled, if trembled it could be called, excited by the surge to meet this challenge head-on. But Aragorn pulled Anduril forth, and held it before the orb, and saw Sauron's eye widen even further.

"You cannot forget the Sword that was Broken!" Aragorn snarled. "It has been remade. I have returned."

Sauron's wrath seemed to intensify as the flame within the palantir surged anew and grew wildly, as if to heat the ball right out of the man's hands. He saw the tower and the burning Eye, furious in its wrath, and then the Eye cleared, and Aragorn saw Arwen, her face pale as snow, her life-blood being drained from her little by little. Sauron purred to Aragorn, offering him an escape…a new path to follow…

_Would you like to save the lady you love?_

_What would you give to rescue her?_

_What would you do…what would you not do?_

Aragorn dropped the palantir as if it burned him; simultaneously, the Evenstar dropped from his neck and flashed once before shattering into a thousand shards on the floor of the throne room. The palantir went dark. And Aragorn was suddenly overcome by a fit of genuine, honest-to-God crying, more than he had probably ever done in all 87 years of his life. He dropped to his knees, all pretense gone from him. His noble face was etched with grief; his proud shoulders slumped, and the heart which had borne so much pain and suffering just wrung itself out, crying and letting flood a torrent of tears.

He straightened and tried to be dignified as he heard footsteps behind him, and Adelaide halted in her tracks, wondering if she'd interrupted something extremely important.

"Can you not sleep?" Aragorn asked, not turning around.

"Um," she replied.

"You should not be here."

"Why not?"

He didn't reply, and she fidgeted. One look at the shattered Evenstar told her all she needed to know.

"It's going to be okay," she said, a little awkwardly. "Everything is going to be fine."

"Will you stop all these prophesies!" Aragorn snapped suddenly, wheeling around on her, and she saw, even in the dark, that he'd been crying. "It is not for you to determine our fate!"

"I'm not the one who determines it!_ I_ didn't write your story!"

"Back in camp, you said that Sauron would be destroyed," Aragorn replied bitterly. "When you gave up the Fellowship and spat on Galadriel's cloak. You rejected us and yet you told us that we could look to hope, for everything would turn to our advantage. How can I have any hope from you? You made allegiances to our Fellowship, and then you broke them. What good is your word, Adelaide?"

"Well, then I don't see what all the fuss is about, trying to keep me safe, if the Walking Information Center is carrying faulty information. There's no point in that, is there?"

"I never tried to keep you safe because you were a…a…a Walking Information Center! I tried to keep you safe because I love you dearly, as ever a father might love his daughter. I could not help myself. Could I hold you at arm's length and tell myself that this was merely business, when in fact I have felt strangely attached to you, ever since I saw you, alone and frightened and helpless in the forests of the Shire? I helped you then and protected you, and I would give my life for you even as I would give it for the Ringbearer. And you accuse me of acting from impersonal intentions? I have long held you in my heart."

"Look, I screwed up then," Adelaide said, and then realized that such a statement was not a very good way of starting the conversation. She sat cross-legged on the floor beside Aragorn. The man had suffered so much. He missed Arwen. He had been unable to save Boromir or Eowyn. He had been rejected by a young woman he held dear. There was just too much going on here for Adelaide to make such a callous statement. She was quiet for a few moments. Aragorn, sensing her need to talk, stayed quiet. She might bite his head off again or even scream and cry and rant and rave, but he would let her speak. He could not shut her out, would not shut her out.

"Aragorn, I…I made a mistake in saying what I did," Adelaide said softly. "Back in camp, when I…when I yelled and said I didn't want to be a part of the Fellowship. I didn't know, I mean, I didn't even think…I was afraid that, after all this time, I was still…you know, still an outsider. I never wanted to be one. Eowyn and I had a fight, and…well, I got all scared 'cause I thought that nobody really liked me; they were only putting on this pretense because I am an outsider and have important information and all…I just wanted to run away from it. But my way of expressing that wasn't very appropriate. I'm sorry. I kind of…I kind of lost my head, and that wasn't very mature of me. I'm still confuzzled over this whole affair of my sickness and the lines between fantasy and reality, and—

"Confuzzled?"

"It's a word that combines 'confused' and 'puzzled.' Sort of, like, 'chillax.' Cross between 'chill' and 'relax.' I like fun words like that. 'Catawampus' is another one, and 'didgeridoo'."

Aragorn laughed, in spite of himself. "Girl, is there no end of positivity in you? Even when we are on the edge of our final battle, with little hope of coming from it alive, you speak so calmly of words you find amusing."

"I don't think the reality of a battle has quite hit me, yet."

"And it need not."

"Oh, pooh. I'm coming along, you know I am. I love Frodo with all my heart; I think he's the reason that I'm in love with Middle Earth, all of a sudden. I know it's cheesy, but I have to go fight for what I love. Eowyn went and did it, so I see no reason why I can't, either!"

"Eowyn nearly got herself killed."

"Eowyn killed the Witch-King, you half-baked excuse for a man. Didn't you see it? She took off her helmet, proclaimed her womanhood and all the chic-power in the world, and stabbed him through his helmet. Beheaded the winged thingy, too."

Aragorn stared at Adelaide. "She did that? I did not see it! Are you sure? Eowyn is a heroine, then! She has fulfilled the long-foretold prophecy, that it would be no man to kill the Witch-King! How is she?" he asked suddenly. Adelaide giggled; the poor man looked as though he didn't know whether to do war-whoops of joy or sit there and contemplate the confusing, mysterious nature of women.

"Better, I think. She's warm now, and sleeping soundly, when I left her. Out like a light, as we say in America. She'll probably sleep tomorrow off, and then get up in time to have a pillow-fight with the handsome Captain Faramir, who, I hear, is also in the emergency room."

"And on the mend, as well. You speak as though you know something."

"I do!" Adelaide grinned triumphantly.

"In what way do you suppose I could reward her for such valiant deeds? For she has earned more than honor at the hands of many."

"Eowyn will take nothing less than that," Adelaide laughed. "Honor, glory, and the love of men who find her their equal. She doesn't like being subordinate to men."

"Neither do you."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Adelaide said pleasantly. "Frodo could have me under him any day of the week, and any second of the day. I fight for my independence, but not necessarily for my equality. I know myself now, much better than I did years ago, when I first came here. Gandalf suggested that I find myself here. Here, in a fantasy world! Maybe I have come to understand my real self through fantastic circumstances. I guess that's how it usually goes."

"And what have you discovered?"

Adelaide took a deep breath, prepared to speak, and then glanced slyly at Aragorn. "None of your goddamned business, ranger-man."

"Ah, now_ that's_ much more like the Adelaide I know!" Aragorn hugged her suddenly. "She's done with struggling…at least in this. Never be afraid to be who you are, Adelaide. It is your lovely, silly, foolish, crazy self that we have all fallen in love with, and you need not change to think that you belong. You have always belonged."

"And you'll take me back into the Fellowship?"

"Have you really believed all this time that you ever really left?"

He was bowled over by the force of her hug and the enthusiastic, grateful kiss she bestowed for the first time upon his scruffy cheek, but it was certainly worth it, just to see her so happy.

* * *

It was midnight when Aragorn finally carried a sleeping tween to a room and laid her down upon the bed, covering her gently and kissing her brow. He felt so proud of her; in only a few short days she had learned more about herself and her relationships than most people learned of in ten years. Times of war and hardship often did that to a person, made them wiser than their years. Adelaide was going to have the mindset of an eighty-year-old when she finally returned home.

On his way through the corridor, Legolas stopped and accosted him.

"I have been searching for you everywhere. Where have you been?"

"I was in solitude," Aragorn said sternly. "And I have done what has long needed to be done. What is troubling you, my friend? You look as if—" Aragorn could not find a simile and let the grammar matters drop. Legolas looked quite upset; his face was flushed, his chest was heaving indignantly, and he drew his friend into a corner.

"Aragorn, I wish to speak to you upon the matter of Adelaide. Do you know what that foolish girl is going to do? She claims she WILL march against the Black Gate with us! I have never heard of anything so ridiculous in my life. She is weak already from this battle, having seen things that no lady should ever see…and going through trials that no lady should ever go through! I wish that you will speak to her, and tell her that she will not go. I will not have her risking her life on behalf of a silly Halfling—"

"You mind your tongue," Aragorn snapped. "If Adelaide heard that, she would not tolerate it, and just because you are jealous does not give you leave to speak so about our Ringbearer! And don't try and contradict me, Legolas; you need to listen to this and understand…or maybe you do understand, and are refusing to accept it. You think that because they are not married, all's fair in love and war. But I tell you this, and I don't take it back: you're a fool. You can't see that Adelaide won't have you, not because she hates you but because she loves another, and you're too stubborn to believe that she could ever love someone two feet shorter than her. She gave you an inch, and you took ten miles, Legolas; how fair is that? You asked for her friendship; she gave you that, and you mistakenly thought she was bending to your will. Why do you wish to keep her out of battle? Because you want to keep her safe or because you don't want her anywhere near her lover?"

Legolas opened his mouth and then shut it, feeling as though he could not answer that question.

"I will not have her in battle tomorrow," he said stiffly. " And if you do not lock her in her room and keep her there, I will tell Gandalf to do it instead. And he will not be as lenient as you, I know that for a fact."

Aragorn stared at Legolas. He had never seen the Elf looking so determined about anything in his life before.

"I will not hinder her," he said firmly. "Though what you say to Gandalf is none of my concern, I will point out to you that he may be on my side on this issue. If it comes down to it, you may be the one who turns the key in her lock, for I will not do it, nor will I encourage anyone else to. But if you do, our friendship will be hard-pressed, and I will personally make certain that she never comes within ten miles of Mirkwood, or your arms. You don't deserve her, you really don't."

Legolas felt as though Aragorn had punched him.

"You would end our friendship over a female?" he grated. "Do our many years of friendship and trust mean nothing to you, then, that you would sacrifice them for the petty desires of one who is not even of our world?"

_Oho, that's a new tune the Elf is singing_, Aragorn thought bitterly, but he did not voice his thoughts out loud. Had Adelaide loved Legolas, the Elf would not be making such a fuss.

"You do not understand," Aragorn said finally. "Adelaide IS of our world, and has always been so, from the moment a man of her world put ink to paper and gave us life. The connections are stronger than you may choose to believe, but if even you come from the thoughts of a mortal, why should you find Adelaide so different and so beneath you? I will say no more."

With that, Aragorn walked away, leaving Legolas to stew in his anger, frustration, embarrassment, and irritation.


	20. All Hell Breaks Loose

Chapter 20

All Hell Breaks Loose

**

* * *

**

Frodo and Sam slowly made their way out of the orc tower and down the slopes leading to the Plains of Gorgoroth. They were attired in their usual clothing once more, for Sam had gone fishing about, and had finally discovered Frodo's clothing in a dirty leather sack all tied up and ready for shipping and handling to the Great Eye. Overtop all this, they put orc gear, in order to blend in with their surroundings. Helmets, breastplates, and other orc-ish nonsense weighed them down considerably, but Sam gave Frodo a bit of water and lembas, enabling him to go on a little further. Invigorated by the food and a new hope, Frodo was able to stand up and walk a fair distance without much trouble; only the Ring weighed him down and pained him considerably.

They reached the bottom of the slope and halted for a bit, looking out at the horror spread before them. Mordor was like a vast pit of sharp rocks, black dirt, and steamy geysers, while overhead they sky fanned out before them like a lonely red dome, spotted with lightning and fire. The Tower of Barad-dur was situated only five miles off, looking tall and forbidding, and like its evil twin on the right stood the ominous Mountain of Doom, faintly throwing leisurely fire-balls and lava-spats. A Nazgul was flying about between the two tall black figures, the horrid sound reaching the ears of the dismayed hobbits. But that was not the only forbidding horror.

Stretched before them on the Plains of Gorgoroth was the encampment of over ten thousand orcs, their lights and weaponry clearly seen from afar, their noise and horrifying music drumming wildly from the very heart, while the orcs themselves marched about, sharpened their weapons, and ate noisily. This was the evil contrived by Sauron, his regrouping of orcs meant only one thing: a second attack upon Middle Earth. Frodo's heart quaked in fear, but new resolution spurred him on as he thought of his friends who were doing all they could to help him and save the land from destruction. His own part to play was large, but very small, and he felt quite certain that once his quest was completed, he would have done all possible to help them.

"There's so many of them," he said breathlessly. "We'll never make it past them unseen!"

Beside him, Sam breathed heavily, taking in the scene with a bit more than a practical eye. Then Frodo gasped.

"It's Him! The Eye!"

Sam ignored this, trying not to focus on Sauron. As Adelaide would have said, he only had one eye, and it wasn't as if he was going to notice every single little detail, let alone two little hobbits. He smiled grimly to himself.

"Come on, Mr. Frodo. Let's make it down the hill for starters."

With a sigh, Frodo followed him.

* * *

Adelaide woke up in high spirits the next morning, ready as ever to make a mark on the Black Gate (signed Adelaide Edessa, thank you very much), mark it good so it stuck there for a long time.

She was humming, ready to go out the door and march down to the armory, when she tried the door-knob.

It appeared to be stuck.

"Excuse me!" she called to whomever might be in the hallway. "Could somebody come unlock this door for me, please?"

Nobody answered, and Adelaide, getting very impatient, pounded on the wood hard. "Hey! Dimwits! Could you please unlock this door? Joke's over, Aragorn!"

Her foot touched something, and she bent down.

A note…for her?

That stupid, scummy, rotten, no-good, fucking bastard of a golden-haired Elf!

Adelaide read the note, tears starting to slink down her face.

"_I do this with regret, for not only do I risk your wrath, but that of my good friend. Yet I would not see you fight, with the risk that you may lose your life. Your death would be more painful to me than the wrath of all my friends combined, and so I leave you, my love, with hopes that you will forgive me, and that you may welcome me back with such love as can forgive a foolish immortal for ever falling in love with a mortal woman so badly that he throws everything away for her sake."-Legolas_

Oh, BULLSHIT!

Adelaide tore the note into a thousand pieces and threw them as hard as she could. Her furious screams vibrated throughout the empty city as the pieces fell down like confetti. They were already on their way, they were gone, everyone had left the city to go fight, and Legolas had locked Adelaide in her room! Damn his rotten hide, did he not see that she NEEDED to go fight? Frodo was her fucking BOYFRIEND! _But of course, Legolas WOULD be a dumbass faggot and pull this kind of shit because all he wants is a one-night stand!_

Adelaide pounded on the door and screamed for help until her lungs were raw, and her yells subsided into sobbing. She didn't know what to do. All the horses and weapons were probably all gone, and there was no one around to hear her; Legolas would have told the nurses and other women around not to let her out for any reason. And he probably would have seen to it that she didn't have her sword or anything else to get out and fight! That fucking idiot! She'd never come within ten miles of Mirkwood or his arms. He didn't deserve her, he really didn't!

Then, she remembered her running dreams.

_I'm too awake to have a running dream. It's impossible. Gandalf once told me that no one has ever consciously bilocated. I can't do it._

_But what if you can?_

_How would I do it? I haven't the slightest idea how to bilocate. I wouldn't know how to transport myself from point A to point B even if you gave me a fucking manual on the subject. _

_But what if you can?_

Adelaide knew she was subjecting herself to something she had never tried before, something that was almost pointless to hope in and place all her confidence in. She was terrified of doing something she had never tried before, especially since Gandalf had said it was impossible. But she was out of other ideas, and desperate to help Frodo. He needed her, now, she could feel it.

She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself.

* * *

Aragorn, meanwhile, was truly feeling as though he'd left something behind, knowing full well that the "something" was Adelaide, and that if he turned around now, they'd waste time in helping Frodo. But Legolas was going to hear words when and if they got out of all this alive. The Elf did not look extremely happy himself, as if he knew he'd just done a beastly, selfish thing, but he had done it. Aragorn knew he could never just drop Legolas' friendship; their bond was too strong to let even Adelaide interfere, but the Elf had pushed a line, and there would be some sort of punishment in store.

As they came within sight of the Black Gate, Aragorn held up a hand, and the men formed ranks.

* * *

As Frodo and Sam moved down the mountain, they finally came to the bottom of the hill and rested, taking in the scenery with drowsy eyes. Frodo was really in need of sleep and more food, and of course, the dryness of the land parched his throat and made breathing difficult. As they rested for a brief moment, Sam suddenly gave a whisper of delight and encouragement.

"Look, Mr. Frodo! Something's drawn It's gaze! They're moving off! You see? Some luck at last!"

The Great Eye indeed had swiveled elsewhere, towards the Black Gate, where, of course, Aragorn and his company of men were establishing themselves. The orc encampment was slowly moving off towards the Gate also, food and sleep forgotten for the lust of battle. Happily for the hobbits, the plains were clearing up. Luck indeed! Frodo cheered silently in his heart, not having the strength to jump up and down, let alone verbally mouth his feelings.

They moved down slowly towards the encampment, trying to avoid being seen. Unfortunately, they were coming down a sharp slope which led to a crudely-made little road on a turn, and coming around this turn was a horde of orcs, marching towards their goal. Sam immediately grabbed Frodo and held him back, and both of them slumped down against the rocky wall, pretending to be dead or asleep, but keeping half an eye open to make certain they were not spotted. However, orc eyes are keen, and the taskmaster noticed them.

"Come on, you slugs, form ranks!" he snarled viciously, "Get up, you lazy slugs; back into line! Don't you know we're at war?"

He laid the whip soundly across the backs of the hobbits, however, their disguises prevented the orcs from really finding out what they truly were. They marched along this little road then, until the ranks were suddenly halted.

"In-spec-TION!" the taskmaster roared. A burly, troll-like orc was moving through the ranks, inspecting each and every orc.

"Oh no!" Sam whispered. Frodo sagged.

"Sam!" he whispered. "Help me Sam! It's so heavy! I can't…I can't…"

"What'll I do…what'll I do?"

At that moment, the inspector looked directly their way. One closed eye flew open in astonishing speed and rage, and then he began pushing the orcs aside, flying to get at the throats of the hobbits. Sam quaked fearfully, and Frodo clutched him.

"Hit me, Sam!"

"What?"

"Hit me!"

Sam caught on, and slugged his master as hard as he could, spewing out all sorts of verbal abuse that orcs might use. He even popped in some of Adelaide's colorful language, which the orcs were instantly interested in hearing. They turned, forming a tight circle which prevented the inspector from coming through, chanting and cheering the fight on. The taskmaster laid his whip on them all.

"Come on, you filthy maggots! Get back in line! Get your filthy…little … carcasses back…in…line!"

"Go!" Frodo ordered Sam. The confusion of the orcs provided a safe and healthy get-away for the both of them; they ducked into a nearby tent, went out the other way, and raced down a hill. They did not stop until they had reached the bottom of the encampment, and were far away from the orcs and the inspector, who was now puzzled, and trying to figure out where the heck his prisoners went. The ranks finally moved on, leaving Frodo and Sam behind at the base of the hill, safe and ready to continue.

* * *

Adelaide, meanwhile, had calmed herself down so the point where she was praying with all her strength for a miracle. She didn't know exactly who to pray to, but she figured that there was no harm in praying to Illuvatar, since He was Tolkien's mythological equivalent of God Almighty. She did not know what to say or how to say it, but if ever a woman humbled herself, Adelaide did it in that moment, seeing herself as faulty, nothing, a speck in the entire confusing universe, but loved, truly loved, by God, by Frodo, by her parents, by the Fellowship, by her friends, by everyone who knew her. She didn't know how to explain her need; she held it in her hands like a poor offering, wanting nothing more than to give everything she had for the man she loved. For the world she loved.

_Thou shalt return to mankind as their beacon of hope, and then at last, thou shalt meet the death of thyself. Traitor shall kill traitor, and the sweetness shall bind itself to sweetness. The love shall sprout and bloom, its roots laid in a foundation of blood. And thou shalt become the wedded bride unto a husband more noble than ye know. Then, only then, shalt thou taste the fruits of bitterness, and though the darkness has passed, the light is fading, and thou shalt go beyond the towers to the sea...and there shalt thou find thy passage home._

That dream. Adelaide had nearly forgotten it; the voice had not returned and spoken for what seemed like years! She still didn't understand a word of it, but now she concentrated, fingering each word in her mind and picking it over for meaning.

_Did I ever come back as some sort of beacon of hope? I guess I did spill the beans and tell Aragorn that Sauron would be defeated. I kept telling everyone that everything would be okay. Traitors and sweetness…beats me. Love shall sprout and bloom, roots in a foundation of blood…what does that mean? Is there a key in my sickness? Some sort of symbolism behind all the blood I cough up? It happens when my mind is strained, when I fight against myself. Do I have to fight against myself to let love bloom? _

_Do I have to put down myself first? Put aside that part of me that says "impossible"? _

_That makes sense. From the moment I arrived, I thought my situation was impossible, yet I was here, in Middle Earth. I thought that staying was impossible, yet I stayed. I thought that falling in love was impossible, yet I fell in love. I thought that it was impossible to be myself in a fantastic world, and yet I can! I've discovered that. So now I must fight against that part of me that says "impossible" and become everything "possible."_

And it was at that moment when things REALLY started happening.

* * *

"Let the Lord of the Dark Land come forth!" Aragorn roared. "Let justice be done upon him!"

He, Gandalf, Eomer, and the remaining Fellowship rode close to the Black Gate, to challenge Sauron. For a moment, all was silent. Then, with a groan, the Gate opened slowly, just wide enough to let through a single rider upon a horse. The dark horse was covered in the trappings of war, its head covered by an iron helm shaped like a skull. The Rider seated upon it was far more hideous in appearance than any Nazgul; his helm was tall, crowned with seven sharp spikes, and his eyes were gone. Only his mouth remained preserved, and this was cracked at the lips, split, until naught could be seen but his long, yellow, rotted teeth, gums bloodied beyond saving. He was a dentist's worst nightmare. But he was a living man, one high in the Dark Lord's favor because of his cunning and knowledge of great sorcery, and he was crueler than any orc. He, then, was the Mouth of Sauron, speaking on behalf of the Great Eye.

"My Lord Sauron bids thee welcome," he snarled. He looked from face to face. Legolas' features were twisted in disgust; the hobbits hid their eyes, and Aragorn and Gandalf faced him down unswerving, but the eyes of Aragorn were filled with hatred. Then the Mouth spoke again.

"Is there anyone in this rout with authority to treat with me?" he asked. Gandalf stepped forward.

"Ah! Old Graybeard!" the Mouth laughed. "I have a token which I was bidden to show thee."

And he held up Frodo's mithril jacket.

Aragorn's eyes widened; Gandalf's mouth dropped, and Gimli bowed his head. But the hobbits cried out in fear and distress.

"Frodo!" cried Pippin.

"Silence!" Gandalf cried, but Merry took up the cry.

"No!"

The Mouth looked very pleased. "So he was dear to thee, I see! One of the Halflings from the little rat-land of the Shire…who could have imagined that one so small could endure so much pain? And he did suffer, Gandalf. He did. Sauron does not love spies," the Mouth spoke. "It was unfortunate that the Halfling fell into his own doom. Did you send him there, then, Gandalf? He suffered cruelly. Most cruelly. And it was a shame…such a shame."

The Mouth grinned as Aragorn sauntered up upon his horse.

"And who art thou?" he laughed. "Aragorn, son of Arathorn! It takes more to make a king than a piece of Elvish glass—"

Aragorn growled and with one swipe of his sword, cut off the man's head, silencing the Mouth forever. Gimli snorted.

"Guess that concludes negotiations," he observed. Aragorn rounded on them.

"I will not believe it! Frodo is still alive! He is! I will not believe that all hope is in vain!"

Even as he spoke these words, a trumpet sounded, and the Gate of Mordor slowly began to open again. Aragorn fell back, along with the others, and boldly faced his ranks, preparing to do all possible.

* * *

Frodo finally heaved himself over a rock and fell down gasping, the weight of the armor dragging him down.

"I'm sorry, Sam!" he gasped. "It's too…it's too heavy…I have to take something off…I have to…the Ring is enough…" His dry lips cracked, and his parched throat screamed for mercy. Sam knelt down by his master's side.

"No use in taking anything we're not sure to need," he said softly. Over the top of the rock he pitched their orc gear, down into the chasm below, and in with it went his precious pots and pans that he had carried so far for so long, without any hint of complaint.

They rested, then, beneath the huge rock, and as they lay there, comforting each other with their warmth and presence, Sam looked up, and it seemed to him that the horrid red clouds had parted, and for a brief moment clear sky could be seen, as it once had been seen in the Shire, on the night of Bilbo's 111st birthday, when all had been merry and happy. And Sam saw a star, a beautiful silver star, shining so lovely in the clear night. It was like a sword to his heart, to see that beautiful thing in so horrid a place, but for once, it gave him hope and a newfound love for life, and he pointed this out to Frodo.

"Look, Mr. Frodo!" he said weakly. "A star."

Frodo looked up, but could see nothing special in the star, as the Ring took hold of him and dragged him under.

Later, Sam gave Frodo a bit of water from his canteen, and Frodo squeezed it until it was dry, wringing what water he could manage into his mouth, soothing his parched throat. He whimpered slightly.

"There'll be none left…for the return journey," he said hopelessly. Sam stared at him in sorrow.

"I don't think there's going to be a return journey, Mr. Frodo," he said sadly, dully, without much emotion. Frodo looked up at him. His servant, now his friend, stood and held out a strong hand. And Frodo, who had had so many hands offered to him before, now grasped this hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet for another start.

* * *

Aragorn rode before his troops with the air of a commanding officer who knows his men and counts on their courage and strength. His voice rang out, strong and confident, building up within each man a sense of honor and duty.

"Hold fast!" he cried. "I see in your eyes, the same fear that would take the heart of me! A day may come when the courage of men fails…when fellowships are broken…when friends are torn apart and war is broke out within the lineage of men…but it is not this day! This day, we fight!"

The men, grim-faced and determined, saw that this was a true captain of men, a true king. Aragorn was seeing Arwen inside his head; seeing her very clearly, he was trying to be her hero in everything he did and said; this was his goal now, to be there for her at this hour, this moment, this day of reckoning, for she needed him, and his strength would not be wasted, or put to in vain.

The Gate had opened, and now the foes of Mordor came out. Many orcs there were, scurrying about like nasty black spiders and howling madly; trolls came out bearing their weaponry, and other creatures came with their teeth and weapons, surging out like a great black flood. And as the Gate opened fully before them, Aragorn almost became as a king should be, with tall, noble stance, and hardened eyes, having no love for his enemies. And behind him, his friends were willing to help him.

"I never thought I'd die fighting side by side with an Elf," Gimli muttered. Legolas smiled, his golden head flashing.

"What about side by side with a friend?" he asked. Gimli looked up at him and grinned.

"Aye, laddie. I could do that."

The riders shifted. And even as they looked on, Aragorn halted. The doors were now swung wide open, their full length, and all the army could be seen, surrounding the little group of warriors. And Aragorn stalled for a moment, seeing the Eye of Sauron fixed upon him, like a light-house beacon, and he heard its seductive whisper.

_Aragorn…._

_Aragorn…_

Aragorn turned and addressed the troops softly.

"_For Frodo."_

Aragorn ran forward, sword held high. The hobbits were second after him, running fast to catch up and help their friend. Gandalf followed, and the dwarf and Elf came after. Then the army followed them, giving a shout of victory, and fighting their enemy that came before them like a great black wave. The Eye of Sauron seemed to laugh at their efforts.

* * *

But little did he know of the two hobbits toiling along their way forward. And he certainly didn't see Adelaide, who had bilocated consciously, and was so startled to find herself in Mordor that she yelled like a banshee first and hid herself immediately behind a rock. Thank God she'd thought to imitate Eowyn's war get-up, although there was no more chain-mail to be had, nor a sword and shield, or anything else but gloves, a leather jerkin, and a rough cape for protection. But the whole fashion thing was way too hot; Adelaide's adrenaline was up, the land of Mordor was boiling, and now all the exercise made her shed her cape, gloves, and leather jerkin. At least she had boots on. There were sharp rocks everywhere.

She peered out from her rock. All the troops were shuffling out of Mordor, and no one paid any attention to her. But where was Frodo?

Oh, hey, not far away at all! Adelaide saw them toiling along the road to Mt. Doom, about a mile away. She dared not call any names, but rather ran out from hiding and tore off to go meet them. Then she stopped in her tracks. The Eye of Sauron was making its hourly sweep along the plains of Gorgoroth, and its light would nearly engulf the hobbits, very soon! Adelaide felt like she was running in slow-motion, but she willed her feet to carry her as fast as she could towards the hobbits.

Frodo turned, as if in a dream, and Sam screamed.

"Frodo, get down!" he cried, dropping. Frodo stood; the Eye was nearly upon him! Frodo fell as if in a fit of fainting. But yet his hiding place was vulnerable.

Adelaide didn't know how it happened. She simply willed herself between the Eye and the hobbits, and stood there, surprised at herself and her stupidity. Neither hobbit saw her, but Sauron certainly did. The light from his Eye engulfed her completely, and suddenly it was like a scene out of High Noon. Adelaide stood rigidly, unable to tear her eyes away, unable to move. The Dark Lord's gaze was plastered on every inch of her. Adelaide did not like the way he looked at her—she felt small and scared, naked and worm-like. What the hell was she thinking, facing Sauron like that? He was so much stronger and terrible. Why, oh why couldn't she have stayed in her room?

His gaze was piercing, burning, unlike anything she had ever known. Pain shot up through her arms and legs, seeming to ignite fire within her very veins, and up to the roots of her hair; her eyes were blinded, but unable to look away, she held the Dark Lord's gaze. Without hesitation, the mind of Sauron began to work upon her like nothing she had ever experienced before.

_You are here at last. Free, independent, of your own will. My equal…my superior. The one in this world who owns me._

_So, this is what a Dark Lord looks like._

_A Bride, my Bride, our Bride. Do you realize that you take upon yourself a burden that no one else has ever taken? To wed the land, to become one with it, and carry it forever in your heart, means to take up the good, and the evil. You would do that? _

_He's all blinding fire and hot air._

_Just as you might take a husband to yourself, you take the good and the bad, for all times, until death. Would you sacrifice so much? You risk everything if you take me upon your shoulders. Do not let me be your cross. I will only bring you to the ground, make you cry every day. Your torments will be greater than you think you know. I will take you away now, if you wish it. I will take you home. You need never worry about Middle Earth ever again. _

_Ah-HA, Mr. Smartass! I'm not that type of girl, and I never will be. I'm not so selfish as all that! I'll take that cross, thanks!_

And suddenly, it was as if the gaze of Sauron was drawn back to the Gate, and his mind forgot all about the girl, and she was left standing alone.

_Wow, that was one helluva experience!_

And where were those damned hobbits, anyway…off already? She thought of turning back to the battle at the Gate, where Legolas, Aragorn, the hobbits, and Gimli needed her, but more importantly was Frodo, and she raced back off after him.

* * *

Frodo and Sam now climbed the slopes of Mt. Doom, their footsteps slowed by the weight of their own tired bodies and by the many sharp rocks that lay in their path. At one point, Sam fell, but Frodo kept on climbing. And then, at last, he too, fell, and with the last ounce of his breath, he pulled himself up the slope, inch by agonizing inch, until he could move no more, and lay there as if dead. And then Sam crawled to his side, and lifted him up, cradling him, and the two of them rested, while overhead, the flames from the volcano spewed forth, and hot ash surrounded them. Lightning split the heavens, and the great cries of the Nazgul, far-off, could be heard. Sam bent over Frodo, cradling his master's head.

"Do you remember the Shire, Mr. Frodo?" Sam said, tears in his eyes. "And the Party Tree, and the lights? It'll be springtime now…and they'll be picking the first of the strawberries with cream. Do you remember the taste of strawberries, Mr. Frodo?"

"I'm…I'm sorry, Sam," Frodo rasped, his breath coming in short. His lips were dry and cracked; his face was caked with grime, and he was cut by the dusty, sharp rocks. All the strength seemed drained out of him. "I cannot see or taste…them…I can't remember the taste…of food…nor the…sound of running water…"

Sam gripped his master harder, unable to believe what was happening. He was losing his friend even as they spoke; time was running out. And then, from what seemed to be not so very far away, Sam caught a glimpse of something coming towards them. The someone came closer, and suddenly Adelaide dropped to her knees beside them, panting for breath. The sight of Frodo, laying so helpless in his friend's arms, tore her inside and out. She caught up her beloved's hand, pressed it to her lips, almost willed herself inside him, so that it was herself and not him that was hurting so physically.

"Miss Adelaide?" Sam's voice was filled with disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

"Ruining the story, Sam," Adelaide burst into tears. "Completely ruining Mr. Tolkien's story."

Sam lifted Frodo so he could see properly. Adelaide's hands came out, and she wiped away the grime and sweat from Frodo's brow. Her face came very close, and she kissed her hobbit on his dry, cracked lips, enjoying every minute as if they were fresh and sweet.

For him it was as though a piece of heaven had dropped to earth. He could not speak for wanting to drink her in with his eyes, to believe that she was there, stroking his face, her beautiful gray eyes smiling at him through her tears. It had been so long since he had dreamed of her, seen her face in his mind's eye, or even remembered what kissing was like. So this was it, eh? A soft touch like that on the lips, and the way she was doing it now was better than ever. It felt so good, but so alien, so foreign. He could not deepen the kiss, much as he wanted to at that moment. She seemed to know what he thought. She kissed him again, and Frodo felt lightning shoot through his body. How long would she stay for him? He could barely grip her hand.

Adelaide wiped her eyes. She did not want to let him go, not now, not ever. But the story wasn't finished yet, and she could only interfere between scenes. Tolkien would have been disappointed if she carried her beloved up the mountain. But that job was reserved for someone else. Yet Adelaide had every intention of seeing the whole thing through.

"Miss Adelaide," Sam whispered. "Where have you been?"

"Interfering," Adelaide whispered back.

"You'll come with us?"

"All the way," she affirmed.

"Did you hear that, Mr. Frodo?" Sam cradled his master's head again, tearfully, but with joy in his heart. "She's coming with us this time. She won't leave us now."

Frodo's face twisted into a mask of pain; he did not look at Adelaide, but threw his head back into Sam's arms and stared up almost vacantly up at the sky. His voice was thick and heavy. "I…I can't hear anything, Sam…" gasped Frodo. "I can't…can't see…or hear…or almost feel…anything…nothing at all! I'm naked in the dark, Sam! There's nothing…no veil…between me…and the wheel of fire! I can see it…with my waking eyes!"

Adelaide's heart wrenched, but Sam's words gave her courage.

"Then let us be rid of it!" he cried, his voice harsh with determination. "I may not be able to carry it for you…but I can carry you! Come on!"

And with that, Samwise Gamgee picked up Frodo Baggins, hobbit of the Shire, and began to carry him up the slopes of Mt. Doom.

* * *

As they finally made their way to the top, Sam gave his master a weak smile.

"There it is!" he cried weakly. "The door."

"Nice of them to leave it open," Adelaide remarked. She was still trailing after the hobbits, staying a fair distance apart so as not to let Mr. Tolkien roll around too much in his grave. A familiar, wheezing and hissing was heard, and Adelaide looked up. Before she could cry out, Gollum had made his presence known.

"Clever hobbits…to climb so high!" he snarled, and leapt immediately for Frodo. He was back, after his fall in which Frodo had tumbled him near Shelob's lair. And he looked thin, famished, and extremely cruel. No mercy would be shown this time. He landed on top of Frodo and Sam like a wet crab, hissing and sputtering madly, clawing and tearing at Frodo until Sam could not take the weight any longer and let them both drop. This time, Gollum went straight for Sam and slammed his head back against a rock.

Adelaide did not want to get involved lest Mr. Tolkien actually rise from the dead, but she could not resist letting at least one well-aimed stone fly, catching Gollum directly on his temple. Living with hobbits definitely paid off, in many regards! Sam got up groggily, in time to see Gollum turn on Adelaide, who was now pretty sure that Tolkien would never forgive her. The wicked creature climbed the young woman like a tree, clamored on top of her shoulders, grabbed a handful of hair, and yanked viciously, his teeth finding her throat. She screamed, bringing her hands up, and catching hold of Gollum's ankle, ripped down as hard as she could, throwing Gollum off her. The experience frightened her considerably, and she backed off.

Gollum capered over to a startled Frodo, and wrapped long fingers about his neck, choking the air off him.

"Mustn't go that way! Mustn't hurt the precious!" Gollum snarled violently, tearing at the hobbit. Frodo gasped and clutched at the hands of his oppressor, trying to negotiate at the same time.

"You swore!" he rasped. "Smeagol…swore…you swore…on the precious!"

Gollum imitated his pleas with nasty sarcasm. "Smeagol lied," he finished, giving a self-satisfied grin. He continued to throttle his prey. At that instant, Sam sprung up, madder than a hornet, and flung a well-aimed rock at Gollum, toppling him off.

"Go!" he cried to Frodo, and Frodo scrambled up, new energy surging into his body. Gollum was bashing Sam's head against a rock when Sam's fingers inched down for Sting's hilt; he grasped the sword and jerked it out, slicing Gollum in the belly. The pathetic creature howled in pain as he staggered back, and Sam looked around wildly for Frodo.

His master was running towards the entrance of the mountain, clutching the Ring and barely stopping for time's sake. Sam pointed Sting at Gollum and raised the blade, to strike and kill.

"Don't kill us!" whined Gollum, his breath coming in ragged pants and groans. "Don't kill uss, nice Sam, nice master! Smeagol will be good. Lost we are, yess, lost, lost without the precious! Famished we are, and lost, losst, without precious!" he clawed at the ground with his fleshless fingers.

"Oh, go along with you!" Sam cried, sheathing Sting. "I couldn't hurt you…not the way you are now, you nasty, pathetic thing! But don't you dare follow, or I _will _sting you!"

Sam ran after Frodo, and Adelaide ran after Sam, knowing full well that Gollum would most certainly follow all of them…which he did, slinking after her and the hobbits as silently as the shadows.

* * *

Sam entered the door of Mt. Doom and there beheld his master, standing at the parapet of the lake of lava, steam curling up from below, and fire belching from all corners of the volcano. Ash spewed forth above, and black smoke curled, wreathing his master's head in a devilish glare. Frodo's face was streaked with grime, but his eyes were clear. He held the Ring over the fire.

"I'm here, Sam!" he called in an amazingly clear voice.

Adelaide came up behind Sam and stopped short.

"Throw it into the fire!" yelled Sam. Frodo hesitated, his arm outstretched over the fire, his fist curled tightly over the chain that held the tantalizing, smooth gold towards its doom. The crystal-clear eyes that had always seemed so lovely to Adelaide now burned with hellish lust that was unreal, almost supernatural. Frodo coveted the Ring, coveted it with all his heart now possessed and unwilling to give over and let go. Sam's voice seemed very far away.

"What are you waiting for? Just let it go!"

_Let it go!_

_Just…let…It…go!_

Frodo looked at the Ring. He saw nothing within its circle of gold now, nothing but the reflection of the fire, and in that instant he saw what Sauron must have seen long ago in its making—that this truly was a thing of real and rare beauty, and it would be desired by all. He saw what Isildur saw in that hour, and much as he once before would have liked to scorn the man who caused so much trouble, now he himself could see why the man had been so foolhardy. He himself could not tear his gaze off so beautiful and precious a thing. It was fine craftsmanship. A thing of wondrous beauty.

Frodo turned and faced Sam.

"The Ring is mine!" he claimed. And then he jerked it off the chain, his eyes demonic and possessive. And in that instant, he put the Ring on and disappeared from the sight of his friend. But far away, Sauron suddenly became aware of what was going on, and his Eye was drawn towards the entrance of Mt. Doom, and his heart failed him, for he saw the thin line upon which his balance hung. Then the Nazgul, which had been fighting the war at the gate, swept like thunderbolts towards the volcano, and the battle turned ill for those at the Gate. And Aragorn, son of Arathorn fell, and was wounded, yet still alive was he, and he fought valiantly, but in his heart he felt despair, as if all was up.

Sam could not believe what had happened. As his master slipped on the Ring, he had cried, "NOOOOOOO!" and wept inconsolably, but Adelaide hopped up and down in a fit of real concern and on-the-edge-of-your-seat suspense. She knew that she ought not interfere, ought not do anything, ought not…

Something rudely bumped into her, and instinctively she smacked an invisible Frodo. He retaliated by shoving her violently, and she fell back against the rock wall, hitting the back of her head on a sharp ledge. Stars swam in front of her eyes, and she completely blacked out.

Gollum, meanwhile, sneaked up upon Sam and dealt him such a heavy blow with a rock that Sam fell unconscious. Gollum approached Frodo, and the creature sprang upon the hobbit, clamoring upon his back and reaching down, bringing up a hand. Feeling around, Gollum brought the squirming hand to his mouth and bit madly. This time, he tore the finger off, and with it, the Ring. Frodo gave a frightful scream and dropped to his knees, clutching his wounded hand, which bled quite freely. Gollum, meanwhile, was having the time of his life. He plucked the finger from the Ring, and cast it away, holding up his precious once more with a look of pure delight in his eyes.

Frodo's gaze swept the room until it landed on Gollum, who was leaping up and down for joy, repeating, "Precious! Precious! Precious!" over and over. And something snapped.

Frodo rose with a look in his eyes that completely put even Sauruman's nasty glares to shame; the only thing he saw was red as determination and hate set his mind on danger mode. Frodo stumbled forward and tackled Gollum with all the strength in his body. Roused to an anger beyond belief, he battled with his foe on the brink of the stone parapet, and Sam, getting to his feet, suddenly saw the both of them topple over.

And Gollum fell down, down, down, down, not caring a bit about what was happening, so long as he had his precious. But he hit the lava, which upheld him for only five seconds before he was lost to the fire. And the Ring remained upheld.

But Frodo was clinging to the edge of the parapet, struggling to raise himself. Sam crawled to the edge and stretched out his hand.

"Take my hand!" he cried. Frodo swung himself once and tried to grasp Sam's hand, but his own was so sticky and slick with blood and sweat that it slipped out of Sam's grasp. He looked down at the fire below, and then up at Sam.

"Don't you let go," Sam ordered. "Reach!"

Frodo swung his hand again, and this time Sam grasped it firmly, pulling the hobbit up. And even as he did so, the Ring of Power disappeared into the lake of lava, and was destroyed.

* * *

And then things began to happen. The Great Eye, Sauron, had been utterly defeated, and in that instant he screamed in horror; his Nazgul flew about, disoriented, and the army which had attacked the men at the gate paused, and they began to run everywhere in a mad panic. The volcano before them belched liquid fire and black smoke, and the great tower of Barad-dur crumbled into dust. The Eye looked this way and that for help, but it received none, and so was obliterated. And even as the tower was destroyed, the Nazgul were killed by the falling rocks and burning fireballs, and a great wave hit the land of Mordor. Like a giant tsunami, the land rippled in a great wave of black rock, earth, and smoldering fire, and the Black Gate was destroyed, and the army surrounding the men crumbled, and they fell into a great pit created by the wave. Smoke hissed from beneath, and in that instant, fair breezes calmed the men, Aragorn rose to his feet, and the hobbits cheered for their friend.

The volcano itself was being destroyed. Frodo rushed over to the place where Adelaide had fallen, but she had vanished, unable to keep up this bilocating business with all the rough stuff happening. But Frodo, not really knowing that Adelaide had bilocated, screamed and searched frantically, though Sam pulled on his arm and begged him to come along. The volcano was falling in on itself; pieces of rock came crashing down and destroying the bridge on which the hobbits stood. Finally, Sam managed to haul Frodo upright and drag him out of the cavern. Rock and fire fell around them, and the tremors deep within the earth tossed them around.

At last, as they broke through the cavern and struggled for shelter, a violent lurch threw them against a ledge safe from the rising lava. There, they huddled together. Frodo was still for a moment, and then he breathed deeply.

"It's gone!" he said softly. "Gone! The weight is gone!"

Another blast rocked them forward, and Frodo lay down, face-up, enjoying for a moment the delicious feel of his own body, not encumbered by any weight any more.

"I can see the Shire," he said breathlessly. "And the lights…and the Party tree. And they're harvesting the new-mown hay…and the green grass, and the beauty…"

"And Rosie Cotton dancing," Sam said, speaking for the first time. Frodo looked over at his friend. "There were ribbons in her hair! If ever I was to marry someone," he said bitterly. "It would have been her…it would've been her!" Sam began to weep, tears spilling down his cheeks. His memory went back in time to see Rosie, her beautiful, lithe form dancing so prettily underneath the stars, simple as the earth, and as lovely as an Elf. She had been everything to Sam, his true love, his motivator, and his inspiration.

Frodo put his arms around his friend now and held him gently. Throughout the journey, Sam had not complained one little bit, and now this was the first hint of his overall hatred of the whole thing. For a girl, he had wanted to be a hero; for a girl he'd hoped to win nothing but his master's affection and gratitude. Funny how love was such a powerful motivator.

The two hobbits embraced, knowing full well that the chances of ever getting out of this catastrophe were zero. But as they lay there, inert and unable to move, there came suddenly through the clearing skies the shapes of three eagles, and upon one of these rode Gandalf the White. Through the smoke and fog they had searched, and now they came upon the half-dead forms of the hobbits. With great care and gentility, the eagles lifted their slight burdens, and flew away with them from that accursed place, bearing them toward Minas Tirith, a place of healing, and the soft, clean newness of beds, restored friends, and sweet triumph.

* * *

When he awoke, Frodo smelt the familiar scent of Ithilien, and opened his eyes to behold himself in a bed of the softest luxury; he had been bathed and washed, and his cuts and wounds had been tended to, and his curls had been brushed. He was lying in a beautiful white nightshirt, and as he sat up and rubbed his eyes, he saw a very familiar face.

"Gandalf?"

The white wizard sat there as he had sat long ago in the House of Rivendell, his wise old eyes betraying his inner emotions all at once, and then the spell was broken, for the wizard laughed, and Frodo found that he could laugh along with him. Then the door opened, and in came Merry and Pippin, overjoyed at seeing their friend up and awake. They came dancing forward, leapt upon the bed and began talking all at once, but also there came in Gimli, and behind him came Legolas, looking every inch the proud, handsome Elf Prince (and if he looked particularly wary of seeing the hobbit again for the first time in months, Frodo certainly didn't notice). Behind him came Aragorn, his hair washed and combed, and they laughed as they sat down by the bedside of Frodo and began talking all at once, eager to put together the pieces of the story since they had been separated that day near Pareth Galen. And then at the door appeared Sam, shy, quiet little Sam, who had also been bathed and treated for cuts. He bit his lip and looked shyly at the ground, and then he and Frodo shared secretive smiles.

Nothing was quite going to be the same.


	21. Adelaide!

Chapter 21

"Adelaide!"

* * *

Adelaide woke up to a splitting headache, as if she'd drunk half the bar over in Rohan. Her body felt as soggy as Rice-Krispies with too much milk on a Saturday morning, and her mind, she was sure, was nothing but mush, oatmeal, creamed corn, wheaties. She licked her lips, made a face at the disgusting taste in her numb mouth, and commenced trying to fall asleep again, which did not work, owing to the fact that there was simply too much noise going on outside. What the hell was happening NOW?

She sat straight up. Why, this was not the infirmary, nor was it her room! She was laying in a clean bed, with a beautiful lace coverlet, and plump white pillows. There was a small table beside her with some food and water, and she was clothed in a clean, white, silk nightgown. Aside from her bruises, aches, pains, cramps, and headache, Adelaide's body was clean and smelled like…vanilla pudding? And all the windows were wide open, with fluttering white drapes and light that illuminated the entire room!

"Oh God!" she freaked out. "I've died and gone to heaven! And I didn't even get to see my mommy or my daddy, and I'll never see my home again, and…" Adelaide promptly burst into hysterical tears.

The noise outside got louder, and suddenly Gandalf opened the door, wormed his way inside the room, and shut the door behind him, locking it securely. Adelaide was face-down on the bed, sobbing loudly. The wizard went over to her and gently tapped her shoulder.

"My dearest Adelaide, please, do stop crying. You're alive. It's alright. You're here, in Minas Tirith, in one of the finest rooms not damaged in the siege. You're alright, my dear. Please, don't cry. You're quite alive. Everything is going to be fine."

Adelaide's hysteria finally subsided into hiccups, and Gandalf gave her a little water with some powder.

"There, this will help with a bit of the pain, if you're still feeling as though you've been ripped in half. My dearest girl, I don't know how you did it, and I don't want to know how you did it, but you've done it."

"I don't (hic) want to know," Adelaide sniffled through a runny nose. Gandalf handed her a tissue.

"You've transcended yourself and done what no other mortal has yet done: you have successfully been in two places at one time while fully awake and alert! Well, almost that. You have not quite mastered the balance of being fully alive in both places, and I daresay if Aragorn hadn't sent Beregond to race back here early to give you the good news, we might have been too late. But all that's over, now, and I am pleased to say that you are completely cured of any illness that you might have had before. You have transcended yourself and found within the power to live within our world."

Adelaide stared dumbly at him. "Beg pardon?"

"They're all waiting to see you. I cannot seem to hold them off the door. This news has spread like wildfire, and you're quite a little heroine of the hour, my dear."

"Gandalf, my head is spinning. Will you please tell me what exactly happened? I'm totally lost."

The wizard sighed and sat down beside her.

"Adelaide, when our battle at the Black Gate was won, as you foretold to Aragorn, he sent Beregond the guard back here with the tidings for you. He felt that you ought to know of the victory. Well, as Beregond claims, he found you locked in your room—he had to break down the door—and frightfully pale, with sweat lining your brow, blood upon your lips, and your body half in a fever and half in a chill. You were shaking dreadfully on the ground, much like an epileptic, but your brow, Beregond claimed, was knit in a picture of determination, and your lips were set just so, as if fighting against something. Then he claimed you passed out completely cold, and as he brought you to a bed, your temperature returned to normal, you stopped coughing blood, and you slipped into dreamland like an innocent infant. He even claims you curled up into a ball and started sucking your two middle fingers."

Adelaide colored in embarrassment. "I haven't sucked my fingers since I was a little girl."

"He then said you called out for your mother to bring you some water, your father to read you 'Goodnight Moon,' and then you cried for five minutes about a baby blanket and a stuffed kitty. You counted to seventeen, and recited various children's rhymes. As he watched all of this in astonishment, you then scolded someone—I believe it was your brother?—out loud, begged someone named Jake for a hug, and then started snoring. Loudly."

Adelaide blushed even redder.

"You eventually stopped, I believe, and that's when we had all returned. Aragorn found Beregond sitting by you, completely dumbstruck, and so we had the maids bathe you, dress you, and settle you in this room."

"But how did you know I bilocated?" Adelaide asked.

"Well, Sam has been awake for quite some time now, and he has told us everything. It wasn't hard to put two and two together. Besides, I am not all that dumb, you know! I've known for a long time now that it had to come, sooner or later, and you would discover a great secret: the secret of laying aside yourself and what you believed for the sake of something greater. It has won you a great power, Adelaide, a very marvelous power that no one else can lay claim to. That is why they are begging to see you. They want to see the young woman who sacrificed herself for love of a simple hobbit."

"What? No! You're crazy! Gandalf, I didn't do anything of the like!" Adelaide protested, turning pale. "I didn't sacrifice myself! I didn't die, nobody died! Well, okay, so people died in battle, but I never died! I hit my head on a piece of sharp stone and completely blacked out; I didn't save Frodo or Sam or Gollum or anybody! I didn't topple the Black Tower; Frodo did! Frodo is the one who completed the Quest! Make 'em all go see him! I'm hiding under the bed!"

"Adelaide, do listen to me. I never said you completed the Quest. Eru knows, you didn't do anything vaguely important to our story at all. I think Mr. J.R.R. Tolkien would be very proud of you. You resisted every urge to alter our ending in every way. True, you did slip up and tell Aragorn the ending, but there's no fear that he ever believed you. Everything played out the way Mr. Tolkien wished it to, is that not so? My dear, when I say you sacrificed yourself, I mean that you walked through—how did you once term it?—you walked through hell to be with Frodo. It means a lot to us all, that you should be willing to stand in the heart of Mordor for your beloved. Frodo is our representative. When you stood beside him, you stood beside us all. And you were very, very brave throughout the whole ordeal, wishing to sacrifice everything for our sake!"

"Um," Adelaide felt very weak and small. "I'm hungry."

"So you should be, and Beregond himself figured as much, so he delivered this tray himself. It has some bread and cheese, with some water and a bit of strawberry jam, but until this city is up and running again, there is not much more to provision you with."

"I don't care. This works just fine. Oh, Gandalf, don't leave me! Please sit and talk with me while I gnosh my yums. Where's Frodo? And Sam? Are they okay? And Legolas! I'm going to kill him! He locked me in my room, that dirty—"

"Please, let's not go name-calling the poor Elf. He'd just about all but jumped from the tallest tower when he discovered what had passed with you, due to his foolish meddling. Aragorn, luckily, saved him some embarrassment, and so the story has gone around that you merely overslept, and so could not join the company. Legolas feels very bad right now, Adelaide. I'm sure if he was flexible enough, he might kick himself a thousand times, rather than see you hurt."

Adelaide grumbled and munched her cheese.

"As for Frodo and Sam, they are well enough. Frodo awoke just yesterday, so he has been abed since then, resting and taking his meals quietly. He hasn't moved yet. Sam, Merry, and Pippin visit him often and enough, and of course other members of the Fellowship come in to see how he fares."

"Does…does he…?"

"He inquires after you a good deal," Gandalf's eyes twinkled knowingly. "I think he might have gone out looking for you if I hadn't convinced him that you were a little on the sick side and needed some sleep. Once I tell him that you're awake and crawling around, he'll want to see you, mark my words!"

"I mark 'em. But he's going to have to wait, 'cause I'm going to see him, first! Where's his room?"

"Down the hallway, three flights of stairs up, and three doors down," Gandalf replied. Adelaide memorized this information greedily, her eyes lighting up with untold mischief. "You aren't going to run him ragged the first night, are you? Because there is to be a special ceremony tomorrow, to honor Frodo and Sam. There will be an entire day of feasting and making merry, and then all stops will be pulled out for the coronation of Aragorn. And after that—"

"His wedding!" Adelaide breathed dreamily.

"What wedding?" Gandalf asked.

"Never mind."

"I was about to say, that once Aragorn has been officially crowned the King of Gondor, he requests your presence on a matter of grave situation and responsibility regarding yourself here in our world. Nothing serious; it should not take long! How are you feeling?"

"What does Aragorn want to talk to me about?"

"You'll see when the time comes."

"Gandalf, my head hurts. I've just walked through Mordor on practically an empty stomach, came face-to-face with a pissed-off Gollum, saw Frodo practically fail in his mission, and now I'm seeing stars every time I blink. I am missing my cheeseburgers and chocolate right now, and I am sexually starved. Don't you dare sit there and beat around the bush. What does Aragorn want to talk to me about? If it's so important, why can't I know now?"

"Precisely because your head hurts, you've been through hell, you see stars when you blink, you miss your American food, and you want to see Frodo. There is too much on your mind right now. Relax. You're not in trouble."

"I didn't think I was, but now I'm going to be curious all day!"

"We have something to cure that. If you are feeling up to it today, go and seek out the minstrel of the city. You and he are to prepare something for tomorrow's celebration, as a sort of surprise for Frodo and Sam. I think, too, that you might visit the lady Eowyn. She's awake and rambling around with her escort, the Lord Faramir."

"Good Lord, talk about moving fast! Where is she?"

"They've moved her to a room that faces East…I believe it's actually just down the hall from where you are now, my dear! One of the terrace rooms. But be careful when leaving the room. There are many who would like to speak to you."

The wizard left her to dress in peace. Adelaide pulled on her gown with fabulous ideas running through her head.

It was over. The whole war was over, and she was alive. Frodo was alive. They were all alive! The Battle of the Ring was done, finished; Sauron had been destroyed, and Mordor was nothing more than a garbage dump, now! Frodo, her darling Frodo, had achieved his mission, and saved all of Middle Earth. And she, Adelaide Elspeth Genevieve Edessa, was a heroine beside her friends! She was actually popular! They loved her, they wanted her, they respected her…Adelaide tipped her head back, smiled hugely, and opened her mouth to sing, belting out the highest note she could, at the top of her voice. She was so happy she broke down into tears halfway through the note, and then she skipped around the room in childlike joy. She didn't want to be cooped up in the room. She wanted to go out and hug everyone, see them all, be with the people, her people! Her people! She was a part of them, even as they were a part of her! The truth was amazing! Incredible! Beautiful!

She threw open the door to a barrage of excited cheers and exclamations. People pressed around her with questions and eager exclamations. It was only after a while that Adelaide finally managed to press through the crowd and ran down the hall to see Eowyn. She wanted to apologize for being such a bitch that night in camp. They had not yet made up after that incident, and Adelaide did not want the sun going down on another day without the forgiveness of her friend. Who cared who was in the right? She just wanted to be friends again. She couldn't lose Eowyn, not then, not ever!

Adelaide really didn't think to knock; she was so excited that she busted on in.

"Hey, Eowy—OH."

Lady Eowyn and Captain Faramir were so entranced with each other that they didn't even hear or see Adelaide. Her eyes went wide.

Wow.

She wasn't sure where Eowyn had learned THAT particular…method…position…call it what you will! But Faramir certainly wasn't complaining. He seemed to be doing the exact opposite. And who on earth knew that two young people could become so wrapped up in each other so quickly? Eowyn looked so happy, happier than she had ever been before. Aragorn would NEVER have gone in for so much lovemaking and…er…interest in Kama Sutra. He was too grumpy. Yes, it was much better that Eowyn fell in love with Faramir, definitely, yes, okay, definitely!

Adelaide closed the door quietly, feeling as though Tolkien really hadn't been explicit enough with the relationships in his stories.

She turned around just in time to see Legolas passing through the hallway. He caught sight of her, and his mouth dropped in amazement. They stood staring at each other again, awkwardly, and then Adelaide shuffled forward. Legolas, poor Elf, was trembling like a leaf, no pun intended. Now that she drew close, and he saw forgiveness—however stubborn!—in her eyes, he bowed his head, having nothing to say. Adelaide shrugged her shoulders helplessly, feeling like a huge idiot.

"Don't feel bad," she finally mumbled. "Everything worked out just fine."

"I was a fool," Legolas muttered softly. "You were right, and I was wrong. I should never have tried…I should never…I mean, I tried so hard to…and I could never…I wanted…I loved…"

"Oh, shut up," Adelaide wriggled in embarrassment. "I know what you mean."

"I do still love you so much," Legolas whispered, and when he raised his head, Adelaide saw tears glittering in his eyes. She resisted the urge to give him a sympathetic hug.

"I know you do," she said softly. "And believe me, if Frodo was not in my life…I think I might have loved you, too. Despite the fact that you're an incorrigible bastard—" here, Legolas smiled helplessly "—you're still awesome. And I recognize that, if it means anything."

He captured her hand and kissed it fervently.

"I ask your forgiveness, my lady."

She laughed. Some things never changed!

"Legolas, I think I can forgive you everything but this stupid 'lady' business. Quit calling me that! Call me by my name, okay? You know what it is. You can say it. It isn't poisonous. You might even get to like it, if it's going to be sticking around on everyone's tongue for a while. You know how to say my name. Say it, Legolas. Say my name. What is it?"

His smile teased her, and suddenly she felt as she did when they had been friends, comfortable with each other, teasing each other and enjoying the company of each other while the world still turned and events piled on top of events! Legolas leaned down and whispered, very softly, into her ear.

"Adelaide!"


	22. Popping Questions

Chapter 22

Popping Questions

**Alright, y'all can't tell me you haven't been waiting on edge for this chapter: the romantic reunion of one Frodo Baggins and his sweetheart. I've been waiting to write it! And you can't tell me, either, that just by looking at the title, you don't know what this chapter's going to be all about. I hope I pulled it off with grace. Let me know if I did! **

**

* * *

**

Sam awoke slowly, lingering sweetly in the luxury of actually being able to sleep in without any troubles or concerns. The days past had been filled with nightmares, treachery, wounded hearts, and horrid creatures. For a moment, Sam had to recall who he was, where he was, and why he was there. The Shadow was gone, lifted from the earth and from everyone's minds. Sauron would trouble them no more; Mordor would only be a name now to frighten children during bedtime stories. The silken sheets felt foreign to Sam's body; the stillness of the morning and its light seemed just about as heavenly as heaven could get. A sweet fragrance, that of Ithilien, lingered in the air.

"Morning, Samwise," Gandalf sat on a stool, puffing his pipe. "Frodo is already up and about. How do you feel today?"

"I don't know, exactly," Sam scratched his head, bewildered. "Seems like all the holidays combined to one, I guess, though more like a song, if you get my meaning, and all the instruments that was ever played! What's happening today, Mr. Gandalf sir?"

"Nothing much, only your victory celebration. The King has planned many days of feasting and making merry, for Middle Earth has suffered much, on the edge of suspense, and now that we may all breathe a sigh of relief, we must celebrate our triumph."

"What am I going to wear?" Sam gasped. "I haven't got nothing nice, Mr. Gandalf sir! Only my rags that I wore to Mordor—"

"Those will do for right now!" Gandalf tossed them across. "No other raiment is more befitting, but I can understand why you would need a change. They will need a bit of washing before Frodo tacks them up on his wall for a trophy."

"Begging your pardon, but did you say 'King'?" Sam asked, struggling with his clothes.

"I did."

"Who is he?"

"The King of Gondor and the Lord of the Western Lands. He has taken back his ancient realms, and is awaiting his coronation."

That still didn't answer Sam's question all the way, but he put on his clothing and obediently followed Gandalf out for a light meal. Frodo was already seated at a low-rise table with Merry and Pippin, and lounging with them in chairs were Gimli and Legolas, chatting quite amiably.

"Hullo, Sam!" Frodo laughed. "I see you get to wear the same thing I've got, too. Merry and Pippin are the only ones of us hobbits who get something fresh and clean."

"And don't they look fine, too!" Sam sat down and tucked in to a light meal.

"We are knights of the City and the Mark," Merry said. "So we have to dress the part. I say, Frodo, that's an awful wound you've got. Any chance you might tell us how you lost your finger?"

"If you want to lose any breakfast you just ate," Frodo teased him. Sam looked sorrowfully at the hand, bandaged. Frodo's third finger was missing, chopped off by Gollum. Gandalf stepped into the room.

"There will be a time for tales later. Meanwhile, hurry with your meal! There is much to do today."

Frodo was quiet. Nobody was really answering his questions about Adelaide. Since his awakening, and after his merry meetings, he had pressed everyone for news of his beloved. He wanted to see her, desperately. They had both been parted for so long; he could barely bring himself to obey Gandalf and rest. The only thing anyone could tell him was that his lover had been severely wounded and would probably not be getting up very soon for anything. But if they were keeping back more than they knew, Frodo couldn't tell. Astonished, he had wormed out the mysterious bilocation issue from Gandalf, who told Frodo just why it was that Adelaide had been up there in Mordor. Frodo shamefacedly admitted in private to the wizard that, with the Ring on and possessed, he had shoved Adelaide.

"She probably saw stars and nothing more," Gandalf waved his hand dismissively. "A slight bruise will be all. No, her wound is (cough) a little more interior."

Frodo completely missed the twinkle in the old man's eye.

"Frodo?" Merry nudged him. "Come on, let's go. The King will want to see you."

"I still don't know who this King is!" Sam said, baffled. "Do we even know him? I sure hope he's a pleasant fellow. Though why he'd want to meet us hobbits, I still wonder."

* * *

The hobbits followed Gandalf out into the sunshine, where a great host of lords and ladies, and all the servants and middle-class folk of Minas Tirith, all of the realm of Gondor, and many lands beyond, including Rohan, were assembled in the courtyard surrounding the flowering tree. Everyone was wearing their absolute best. As the hobbits drew near, the massive throng up people raised their voices, and the trumpeters blasted loudly.

"_Long live the Halflings!"_

"_Praise them with great praise!"_

"_Praise them, Frodo and Samwise!"_

"_Cuio i Pheriain anann! Praise them!"_

"_The Ring-Bearers, praise them with great praise!"_

The men unsheathed their swords, and suddenly Frodo and Sam were walking through the columns of "big people," swords, trumpets, and garlands above their heads. Blushing beet-red, they hurried forward, to where a man sat upon a stone chair by the steps. Across his lap was a sword, but he had nothing on his head. For once, though, he was nicely groomed. Sam almost didn't recognize him, but then shouted for joy.

"Strider! Well, bless my soul!"

"Yes, Sam," Aragorn laughed. "It has been a long trip from Bree, where you were ready to fight me on behalf of your master! But yours has been the darkest road. Now we would honor you properly. Come, my friends, sit beside me."

A minstrel stepped forward, and knelt before Aragorn, begging leave to sing.

"Lords and ladies, you fair people of valour unashamed, all those here of Middle Earth, you free people now listen to my lay! For I will sing to you of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom."

Sam started to cry, feeling as though all his dreams had come true. But Frodo could do nothing but watch the minstrel, listening to his handsome voice as it rose and dipped like silver and gold veins twisting together in perfect harmony. Frodo closed his eyes and felt the voice run through him. Then it seemed as though the world had gone still, and a second voice joined that of the minstrel, and Frodo's eyes shot open.

Adelaide, dressed in a violet gown with silver trimming, stood on the grass beside the minstrel, beaming happily at Frodo, her voice blending in perfect harmony. She was merely doing what she loved to do, and probably put up to it by Gandalf or Aragorn, and he could tell that she was totally making notes up off the cuff, but Frodo didn't care. He almost jumped out of his seat and tackled her, but yet he stayed rooted by the sound of her voice. She could charm a sea monster with that golden throat of hers! How her eyes shone at him, telling his tale, but her thoughts and heart reserved for him alone. The audience was close to tears now; one minstrel was incredible, but two excellent singers were a treat for the gods, and Adelaide fair gave everyone goosebumps.

When the song had passed away, and the sun fell from the noon hour, the minstrel fell to his knee.

"Praise them with great praise!" he said. Adelaide knelt slowly, so excited to take part in the celebration, and still so shy of everything around her. It was better than Easter and Christmas combined! Her eyes never left Frodo; she wanted to drink him in and smile at him all night long.

Frodo could not tear his gaze away from her. What had happened? She was so beautiful, so accomplished, so loved and popular now! Why, she was even prettier than he'd last seen her, if that was possible. Aragorn nudged him and smiled.

"Surprised?"

Frodo stammered something to the effect of "Very much so!"

Aragorn rose. "Come. Let us go now inside, where a feast has been prepared. You will see her later."

"Could she at least walk by my side?" Frodo murmured. Aragorn chuckled.

"She asked the same thing, and made a huge fuss when I told her that she'd have to wait. You see, no one else except the Fellowship knows of your love for Adelaide, and for all these people to suddenly see you run up and embrace her would not be completely appropriate. You will have your chance to be with her, but you must be patient a little bit longer."

That made no sense to Frodo, but before he could protest, he and Sam were taken into a separate room, and there given clean, princely attire, sewn especially for them. The hobbits donned their Elven cloaks and set their swords by their sides. When they came back out to the grand courtroom, they saw that tables had been set, and a great banquet was spread before them. At the head table sat Aragorn, Elrond, Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli, Merry and Pippin, Prince Imrahil, Faramir, Eomer, and Elrond's two sons. Two seats had been left empty, side by side, next to Aragorn's place.

"I don't see Miss Adelaide," Sam murmured to Frodo. But as they took their seats, and Aragorn stood to give the blessing, Frodo's eye roamed around, and a lover's radar immediately caught Adelaide standing beside the chair of a young woman—she might have been Adelaide's own age—with long golden hair; smiling blue eyes; and gowned in green.

* * *

"Eowyn!" Adelaide touched her friend on the shoulder, and Eowyn's head swiveled up.

"Adelaide! Oh Valar, I haven't seen you for days!" Eowyn shot up like a rocket and just about squeezed all the juice out of Adelaide in a massive bear hug. "They told me you were ill!"

"They told me YOU were ill!"

"I got over it quick enough," Eowyn grumbled. "They would have had me lie abed for seven days. Seven days! How could they ask that of me, when there were things to be done? Honestly, the nerve of some of these healers…and they wouldn't let me see you."

"They wouldn't let me see you, either, and when I finally did, you were out like a light."

"They say I slept long, but my dreams were dark and frightening. How can anyone sleep with nightmares?"

"Eowyn, you killed the Witch-King—"

"Only with the help of Merry, who is valiant! I pestered Eomer into making him a knight; he deserves it!"

"I'm glad you pestered him," Adelaide said, relieved, and then the two girls gripped arms happily. Their quarrel seemed behind them, but Adelaide wasn't about to leave the elephant in the room. "Eowyn, I'm so sorry. I owe you a huge apology for that night in camp."

"Please, no," Eowyn hugged her friend. "It is I who need your forgiveness. I was upset, and I did not listen to you."

"But you had a good reason to be upset."

"As I look back now, the reason seems so absurd, so foolish!" Eowyn shook her head. "Why, I really was chasing after a shadow, wasn't I, Adelaide? I was grasping after a…a…an idol, of sorts. I don't think I ever really knew Aragorn, until he spoke to me that night. He is old and wise; I am still young and foolish, and he reprimanded me so gently…but I was upset."

"Well, if I chased after Liam Neeson, only to have him set me aside, I'd probably cry, too."

"Who?"

"Never mind. At any rate, what's that sparkling little rock on your finger, there? Aragorn healed you, but did Faramir the Pharmacist stop by, too?" Adelaide watched her friend blush with pride and joy. "Oh my God, you're engaged! How did he do it?"

Eowyn was beaming like an angel. "We stood together upon the walls overlooking the East, and he clasped me in his arms. Oh, Adelaide, I had never known such joy before…and when we first looked at each other, I thought him handsome…but he could not compare to Aragorn…and yet when we spoke, I felt something, like a true connection, and as the days passed…well…he sort of won me over to his side of things, you might say…and then we kissed…and then…well…he's a very good lover!"

"How did he propose? Come on, spill the beans!"

"Oh, well, I threw queenship and the warrior princess idea out the window, you might say! I told him I had no desire to be a queen, and he said, 'Good! For I am not a king. Yet I would wed you, if you will have me, my dearest Eowyn, sharp as a blade, slender and lovely as a white flower in spring!' And he promised me a home in Ithilien! I've heard it is a land of many fountains…and he promised me we might…well, have fun in them!"

Adelaide burst out laughing. "You have a wedding to plan!"

"My dearest, most darling friend, will you be my maid of honor?"

"Of course I will, stupid! AND your DJ, 'cause you're gonna need one!"

"What sort of theme shall I have?"

"I'm totally envisioning a sort of Sherwood Forest thing, with all the men in tights, and Faramir in his little Robin Hood costume, and you dressed like Maid Marion."

"Details, details…Adelaide, there is so much to think about! Should I have it here or in Rohan?"

"Dude, prevail upon Aragorn's better nature and use this place! We'll decorate it any way you like, and throw the party of your life! He wouldn't deny that to you."

Eowyn touched Adelaide's arm shyly. "And that is your lover? The Ringbearer? Frodo Baggins? Adelaide, you have good taste! Never mind the Elf; your hobbit is quite handsome! I've never seen such blue eyes like that before! You must be swollen with pride."

"Pop my head before it gets too big," Adelaide beamed brighter than the sun.

"But how is it that you are not sitting with him?"

"Um, well, I knew that Faramir was sitting up there, and you would be all by yourself, so I told Aragorn that I wanted to sit with you. He told me it would be okay."

Eowyn covered Adelaide's hand with her own. "My dearest friend in all the world! I want to hear everything that transpired since that dreadful night in camp. Tell me everything, and then we'll compare notes!"

The two girls continued to chatter away over their food, talking about green zombies, giant spiders, black ships, irritating wizards, madmen who set themselves on fire, and other such nonsense. Then they tossed all that aside in favor of more interesting things, like weddings and honeymoons. Halfway through the dessert, however, both of them broke down into tears, knowing full-well that all these grown-up plans meant huge changes for them both. Girlhood was slipping away, and womanhood was taking its place. It was a little heartbreaking.

"You're gonna be married with a house and kids before you know it, and I'm probably gonna go home pretty soon, back to my boring ol' thesis and school!" Adelaide wailed.

"Oh you silly girl, I'd do anything to go to a…a…a school, like you, to learn things!" Eowyn bawled. "Why don't you just stay here and marry, and then we could see each other more often..."

The two girls collapsed onto each other's shoulders, sniffling.

"I will never figure that sister of mine out," Eomer said. "One moment she's a warrior-princess, and the next minute she's in need of some feminine attention. Faramir, are you certain that you did not poison that ring?"

"I'm fairly certain I did not."

"Ah, well, those two are learning some lessons about the realities of growing up and becoming women. They cannot stay little girls forever," one of Elrond's sons remarked, smiling. "Prince Legolas, have you spoken to the lady, yet?"

Legolas shifted uncomfortably, and Frodo shot a look down his way. Spoken? Lady? Yet? What the hell? He trusted Adelaide to be faithful. But if that Elf had tried ANYTHING…

He missed Legolas' response, for at that moment, Merry asked a question about giant spiders, and Frodo was forced to give a reply.

The conversation, feasting, and dancing went far into the night. Though Frodo's heart ached with longing, and his eyes stayed pasted on Adelaide wherever she went, they seemed constantly separated from each other, both busy with their duties and new friends. Frodo was much-pressed by people who wanted to know his tale, and Adelaide either hung around Eowyn or danced with the various lords and knights who seemed completely dazzled by her. Frodo felt that he would burst. To be so close, after all this time apart, to see her smile, laugh, cry, go through each and every movement and action of her being…it was pure torture.

* * *

Finally, when all the guests were filtering out towards their beds for the night, Gandalf escorted the hobbits back to their room, but Frodo hung around the empty courtroom for a while. The entire city was dark and peaceful. The hobbit wandered out into the courtyard. Stars danced over his head, and he pulled up short.

Adelaide sat on a bench beside the flowering tree. She was trembling inside. Now that she and Eowyn were friends again, and the rift between herself and Aragorn was closed, and she was now JUST FRIENDS with Legolas, Adelaide felt that there was one more seam that needed sewing. And she knew perfectly well that it was only going to happen if he came looking for her. So often she had gone looking for him; now he needed to seek her out, and then everything would be fine!

She had rather envisioned waking up in the morning to find him beside her, and she was actually hoping for something of the romantic like, but when she suddenly felt his hands on her shoulders, trembling with urgency and love, she tossed her ideas out the window and twisted her head up to look at him. Oh God, he was so handsome, so wonderfully alive and handsome, her lover, her hobbit, her Frodo!

_Listen to me. I hope Tolkien isn't very much disturbed in his grave._

"Oh, Frodo!"

He held her, held her tightly, ran his fingers through her hair, kissed her head sweetly, passionately. Her arms were up and around him again, as they used to. It felt so strange, but so beautiful and right; he did not move away, but stroked her face, feeling the salty wetness of her tears against his fingertips.

"Adelaide, my Adelaide, my dove, my sweet lover, my angel…my darling, darling Adelaide!"

She buried her face into his chest and cried. Now, here, alone and private, with her lover, she poured out every bit of anguish, pain, heartache, heartbreak, loneliness, anxiety, and fright that had tortured her since he had left her on the shores of the Anduin. Now she was not so strong or fearless, but a little girl who just wanted to be held and loved again by the one person in all the world who could take everything she suffered and turn it into happiness. God was so good to her, so good!

"Adelaide, come with me," Frodo gently took her by the hand and led her back into the city. His own room was filled with three other sleeping hobbits, but Adelaide motioned him towards the stairs, and together they went to her bedroom. She locked it securely behind them both.

"My dove, my lovely lass," Frodo murmured, taking her hand and kissing it over and over. She knelt down to be at eye-level with him, and he kissed her, his lips finding familiar curves and crevices. She opened to him like a flower receiving rain or sunshine, blossoming underneath his touch. How long it had been, how long! She wanted to rip his clothes off and revel in every moment their bodies spent together. Thank God Frodo was the patient one, and gently held her back, kissing her deeply. She tasted sweet to him, like an exotic fruit. His tongue eagerly sought out the smoothness of her mouth, the warmth it held, and the taste of…Adelaide still had the taste of pudding on her tongue.

"Let me get undressed," she whispered.

"Wait," he said. "One moment. Let me look at you. I can't stop looking at you. I have not seen you for so long, I can't believe you're real, here with me, alive…and no dream this time, but full flesh and blood. I dreamt of you so often before…before the end. I recalled every priceless moment we shared in the Shire, and I want this moment now…this one here…to be perfect. In every way. Turn around, let me see you!"

She laughed and modeled for him. He was fascinated. The gown suited her admirably, and the color just highlighted those lovely eyes of hers! How the material hung, just perfectly, so wonderfully, accenting the curve of her backside and around her bosom!

"You've lost weight," he mentioned.

"Only from all the running around. I've been eating well, and will probably gain it all back after feasting all this week. I ate so much tonight I feel like a walrus."

He had no clue what a walrus was, but he insisted that she did not look fat. Indeed, the weeks of labor and "running around" as she said had served as weight loss and muscle gain. Adelaide looked very healthy, although Frodo could hardly wait to bring her back to the Shire and get that plump, rosy color back in her cheeks. Then he saw her smile, and a familiar twinge down south reminded him that talk was all very fine, but action was more important. The way she looked at him now! Frodo's mouth went dry. When was the last time she'd looked at him so…playfully?

"You like the dress?" she reached up and began undoing her hair, one pin at a time. Frodo stammered that it was a very nice gown. Adelaide pulled the last pin and shook out a mane of honey-colored hair, releasing, at the same time, a whiff of the scent a maid had rubbed in earlier. Frodo nearly melted through the floor.

Adelaide's smile was innocent and coy as her tongue traced around her lips and she deftly reached behind her back. A quick tug on one of the laces pulled the back of the dress apart, and she slowly pulled it off her shoulders. Frodo emitted a high-pitched squeak, followed by a low moan, as Adelaide turned around and dropped the top of the gown around her waist. She was not wearing any underclothes. Now the hobbit had a very clear view of the muscled back, smooth and shapely, freckled just above the shoulders. Adelaide pulled her hair over one shoulder to give her lover a better glimpse, and then she slowly—oh ever so slowly!—shoved the rest of the dress down over her hips until it lay in a silken, violet pool at her feet.

Frodo gulped. No panties, either. Oh, well, this saved him some fumbling. He was now fully erect, straining desperately at his pants. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so fully aroused. Adelaide's hair fell back over her shoulder, hiding her back from view, and then she turned and knelt down in front of him. Frodo let another strangled gasp escape. He was sure he would come in his pants if that silly maiden didn't unzip him and do something about his uncomfortable situation. Couldn't she see that he was very eager to give her a hand in her strip-tease? Of course, there wasn't much left to strip, unless you counted those very cute little slippers on her feet.

"Adelaide—"

"Hush." She took his hand and laid it across her breast, and Frodo whimpered slightly. Then she placed it lower, drawing it down between her breasts, over her stomach, across her groin, and up into warm, wet heat. Frodo gasped again, and sank his finger in deeply, watching the flashes of ecstasy that crossed her face. He drew out and rubbed her very sensitive place. She jumped, and he smiled. At last, in control!

He pulled his finger away, listening to her small cry of disappointment. But Frodo was not about to let her have all the fun. He quickly unbuttoned, unzipped, and uncloaked himself, kicking the last bits of clothing to the side by her forgotten gown. Adelaide had retreated to the bed, where she lay like a seductive mistress, beckoning him with a sly look. He crawled up beside her, cupped on breast in his hand, and gently licked the tip. She shivered, and he felt her shift her body to accommodate him.

He wanted to know her all over again. She was like a birthday present that could be unwrapped millions of times, and each time would be different and more surprising than the last. Her own fingers traced his scars and wounds, seeking their story, seeking to know them, since they were now a part of him. Frodo, too, had his fair share of weight-loss and muscle-gain, and Adelaide was very proud and thrilled to feel his hardened body moving against her own. This was the way it was supposed to be; the soft, willing female surrendering herself to her lord and master. Maybe he was a little short, but who cared? He loved her unlike anyone else.

Suddenly, and O-Sweet-Bliss, Adelaide boldly reached down and gently—oh, so gently!—touched his cock, stroking gently at first with her fingers and then boldly gripping the hardened shaft to massage it up and down, slowly, then faster, working it with an expert touch. He smiled at her, dazzled by her eagerness, and so enthusiastic himself to satisfy her natural womanly longing. Poised between her legs, feeling the heat of that central body point against his whole groin, Frodo gently lowered himself and then stopped. He wanted everything about her, but perhaps she wasn't ready, yet. After all, he had a respect for her thoughts and views towards marriage, and maybe she was not yet ready to commit.

She bit her lip, angry to hold off pleasure, but worried about making a mistake.

"I feel torn in two, as you might say," she said softly.

"Are you afraid there might be something better in America?" he whispered.

"No, it's…it's not that. I…well, you know, I…I think I'd like to be married, first," she said. Frodo was quiet for a moment. His erection was ebbing away slowly. A thousand thoughts raced through his head. He did not know whether she wanted to hold out for some American boy or if she wanted to settle down with him in the Shire, or even if she had to go home, would she still marry him? There was only one way to find out, though the question seemed painful. Suppose she wasn't ready for it? Suppose she did not know what to say? Suppose she might reject him on account of fright?

The question, however, popped out before he could stop himself.

"Adelaide," he said quietly. "Will you have me as your husband?"

"I thought you'd never ask," was the reply. "Of course I will."


	23. It's Good to Be the King

Chapter 23

It's Good to Be The King!

* * *

Frodo awoke the next morning to see Adelaide sitting on the edge of the bed, completely naked, and brushing her hair. The hobbit scooted closer to her and nibbled her ear playfully.

"My darling lass!"

"Oh, you!" Adelaide laughed and turned to kiss him passionately. "You beautiful hobbit, you! I love you so much. Have I ever told you how amazing you are?"

"Well, perhaps I ought to go adventuring more often! I never received this kind of praise in the Shire!"

"You did so. It's just been so long you can't remember."

Frodo suddenly put his hand at the back of her head and felt the bump. His face grew serious, and he looked into his lover's eyes.

"I am so sorry for what happened," he said quietly. "I cannot tell you how terrible I feel…I am so ashamed of myself, for behaving so foolishly."

"Oh, shut up. No harm done, and besides, you were only doing as Tolkien directed."

"Lass, I haven't heard anything from you, yet! I've heard all about the Fellowship and their adventures, but you…! I want to hear everything about you!"

"OMG, have I got stories for you. Okay, so Aragorn and the others probably told you all about how we went racing off to the four winds to go rescue Merry and Pippin, right? Well, after we held a funeral for Boromir and all that we ran off to go track your friends, and we figured out that Sauruman the wizard wanted them 'cause he wanted the Ring, and we went into the land of Rohan, which is close to Isenguard, you know, and we met up with Eomer and Co. Eomer's my big brother of sorts, you know I spent some time in Rohan, and so he's my buddy, and his sister Eowyn is my BFF—"

A knock on the door brought them both to their senses, but Eomer, who had no regard for etiquette, barged right in, breaking the lock.

"Adelaide, for Eru's sake, are you ever getting up and—Good Lord!"

Adelaide shrieked and grabbed the nearest pillow to cover herself; Frodo "hit the deck" beside the bed. Eomer stood staring; he really had no sense of propriety!

"Um…er…well, I'll just…just don't be all day, alright?" Eomer turned bright red and closed the door on his way out. Adelaide burst out laughing, and Frodo got up off the floor.

"Who was that?" he demanded.

"That was Eomer. What time is it? We'd better get dressed. Storytime will have to wait. Today is Aragorn's coronation." She addressed a wardrobe. "The problem, for me, at the moment, is trying to find something to wear."

"Don't you have something?" Frodo tried to straighten the bed a little; Adelaide was not altogether very neat in the morning.

"I have too much, that's suddenly my problem! Come here, help me pick something, will you?"

To avoid any scandal, Adelaide left the room first, and Frodo followed fifteen minutes later, when the hall was clear. He ignored his friends' questions, but smiled secretively to himself, and of course, then they knew. How could they expect Frodo to come back and NOT pounce on Adelaide the first chance he had? Sam was grateful. His master looked a little more himself as they were escorted out to the pavilion where the coronation was to take place.

* * *

The day had dawned fair and bright, and as the sun rose higher in the sky, the day became just warm enough for everyone's comfort. A great crowd had assembled by the steps, as they had yesterday, but this time more Elves had appeared, from Mirkwood, Rivendell, and a few left from Lothlorien. People from Rohan and surrounding territories gathered, as did nearly all those people of Gondor. The entire city was jam-packed once more.

Sam nudged Frodo.

"This will be the most exciting part in the book, Mr. Frodo. The Crowning of Strider, Ranger of the North. The little ones will want to hear all about that."

"I daresay," Frodo smiled, and Merry grinned.

"It's a day to be happy. Aragorn's getting what he deserves. We've all gotten our share of the victory reward. Now it's Strider's turn."

It was not long before the procession of the King began. Aragorn was seated upon Brego in front, with Gandalf riding behind him upon Shadowfax, and behind Gandalf were the lords and knights of the city and the mark, including Eomer and Faramir. Behind them rode many soldiers in their uniforms. The procession made its way slowly along the streets, so that everyone could catch a glimpse of their new King. Aragorn had never looked so noble before; his hair was washed and combed, and he wore attire and armor fit for a king, polished and ironed and stamped with the Tree of Gondor. He smiled kindly at his people, inclining his head ever so slightly, a bit shy of the attention, and yet determined to do his duty.

At last they came to the courtyard, and here they dismounted. A path was made, and Gandalf preceded Aragorn, who then came and knelt upon the steps leading to the throne room. And Gandalf took a crown, placing it with great dignity and ceremony upon Aragorn's head.

"Now come the days of the King," Gandalf proclaimed, holding his staff aloft, his white garments shimmering with a halo of light. "May they be blessed."

Aragorn took a deep breath and stood before Gandalf, smiling quickly. Now came the time for the King's speech. He had not prepared anything fancy; in fact, he hadn't prepared anything at all. Now, as he turned, he found himself facing hundreds of people who waited expectantly for his first words to them. They all knew that this man who could heal was the last of the Numenor. What would he say to them? How would he impose his rule over them? They waited expectantly.

"This day does not belong to one man," Aragorn said. "But to all. Together, let us build this city. Let us grow in our bonds of friendship. Let us have peace."

This off-the-cuff speech, coming from the depths of his heart and soul, was met by thunderous applause by all. It was as if a bomb had been dropped. But the trumpets blew, the horns sounded, and music was struck up in merriment, as Aragorn smiled. And then, as the clapping died, the white blossoms of the Tree of Gondor began to fall like snowflakes upon all present, and Aragorn bowed his head, sensing that the time had now come to announce his coming personally.

_Et Earello Endorenna utulien._

_Sinome maruvan_

_Ar Hildinyar tenn_

_Ambar-metta!_

"Out of the Great Sea

to Middle Earth I am come.

In this place will I abide, and my heirs,

unto the ending of the world."

Then Aragorn left off where he had been standing and made to move among his people as was custom. To his right, he saw Eowyn and Faramir standing together, and his heart was glad, for they held hands, and Eowyn looked so delightedly pretty that he could not help but smile and give her a happy nod, which she and Faramir returned as one. Eomer would soon announce their betrothal. To his left stood Gimli, and the dwarf was swatting at his eyes, trying not to cry. Maidens and men bowed before him, and then as he came forward, he met Legolas, dressed in white and silver, with a silver circlet set in his hair, and the Prince's escort and people from Mirkwood followed behind him. Aragorn came up to him and slung his hand about his friend's shoulder, which Legolas copied. The Elven Prince was smiling, beaming, practically, and he shared a long man-to-man, knowing grin with his friend. Then he gestured over his shoulder, and Aragorn, looked beyond.

There stood Elrond and several Elves from Rivendell in their finest; Elrond's sons were there, and there was an Elf bearing a white banner with the Tree of Gondor sewn onto it. Elrond looked both afraid and happy, as he nudged the Elf with the banner forward. Then the banner was drawn aside, and Aragorn saw she who had been holding it.

Arwen Undomiel was gowned in a pale green gown with the softest trimmings, and upon her head there was a circlet of silver with many diamonds and sparkling, interwoven beads that hung down around her face and hair. The rosy color had come back to her fair cheeks, and she was looking at Aragorn with eyes as wide and bright as a child's. She bowed her head in his presence, feeling the awe that this mortal man commanded. Funny how some mortals could do that. Aragorn was just one of those guys! But then he placed his fingers beneath her chin and gently raised her head so he could look into her eyes. She need not feel awe, she who was already held such a claim on his heart!

Then, suddenly, the King threw all scandal to the four winds and performed what's commonly known as PDA, embracing Arwen quick and hard, with a kiss that later went down in history. Elrond was actually smiling and clapping, and Arwen had wrapped her arms about the man she loved. At last, they could bring their love out in the open; they didn't have to sneak around at night anymore. Daddy had given permission. The brothers whole-heartedly approved. And the groom certainly had no problems with it, nor did the bride. At leisure they kissed again tenderly, and then Arwen laughed, embracing him fully. There was going to be another wedding, no doubt about it.

The two of them walked forward, king and queen, to say hello to all their subjects, and all parted for them. Finally, they stopped before the four hobbits, who stood together. Taking a cue, they all bowed together, a little sheepishly. Aragorn stared at them.

"My friends," he whispered. "You bow to no one."

And with that, the king and queen of Gondor fell upon their knees to the humble hobbits of the Shire, triggering a wave as the entire world of Big People fell to their knees in wholehearted gratitude and humility. For indeed, as Tolkien had written, it was the Little People who had brought about the salvation of Middle Earth, and their moment of glory was no less than—and perhaps greater than—the King's.

* * *

"I cried," Adelaide told Frodo at the celebration. She was finally seated at the head table because Eowyn was sitting with Faramir now. "Really, I did. I couldn't help it. I feel like my tear ducts are going to be all dried up by the time I go back to America."

"Do you feel that time is nearing?" Frodo asked her.

"Kind of. It's not really a feeling so much as a knowing. I mean, the story's almost finished. What am I going to hang around for, the Fourth Age? Tolkien didn't write much about that, and it's not as fun as the first, second, and third were."

"You weren't around for those times, Adelaide, darling."

"I was for the third. Besides, I read about them all, remember? Now that the journey is all finished, I feel like I need to do something. Travel, maybe. If I get back to America, I'm going to get myself a car and take a long-desired road-trip."

"What of your thesis? Your college degree, all your future plans?" Frodo asked, astonished.

"I don't know. I think I should finish, but I already feel so restless. Maybe I can drop out of my present school and take online courses. But I don't know what I'd do for a job. I have to have money, I have to be able to support myself."

It was the first time Frodo had seen Adelaide so serious about her economical future. That worried him. He did not like to send her back to a world in which she had to fend for herself. If she stayed in the Shire, he could take care of her, see to all her needs properly! In the Shire, she'd never had to worry about jobs and money and supporting herself. Adelaide looked at his face, guessed his thoughts, and laughed.

"Oh, Frodo, it's the American way! We're independent people who can't always rely on others. I've learned to rely on the people around me, but once I'm thrown back into the Melting Pot, my mindset will have to change again. It sucks, I know."

"It does not have to be that way," Frodo said. "It doesn't. Why not live there as you've lived here? I don't understand."

"And bless your heart, you never will. Thank God for that. What did Thorin say on his death-bed to Bilbo? 'If more people valued food and cheer and song above money and hoarded gold, the world would be a merrier place. But sad or merry, I must leave it now.'" Adelaide stopped for a moment, the full realization of her words hitting her fully, and tears willed her eyes. Frodo patted her hands tenderly.

"Don't cry here, Adelaide, you'll make a scene, and nobody likes to see you cry; you know that. Come, now, be a brave girl, and tell me more about your adventures! We need not think about you leaving—yet, anyway. Don't be afraid. Enjoy the present; that's what you like to say, isn't it? Don't think about the future. For once…just don't think about the future. We may not know what it holds, and even you, I think, can't predict what will happen now, aside from our own fate. Leave the future to itself, and let us celebrate our victory, eh?"

She smiled, nodded, and wiped away her tears.

Aragorn stood, and everyone looked at him expectantly. The King then bade Eomer to rise, and, with a hand upon his shoulder, spoke.

"We are here, as I have said, to celebrate the lives of all, the victorious dead, and the victorious living. But among those who are living, I should like to honor especially this day King Eomer of Rohan, close kin of Theoden of Rohan, whom we mourn most greatly. The lord Eomer now has some news that we must indeed rejoice over, for it concerns the welfare of the lands of Gondor and Rohan."

Eomer looked slightly awkward, but regained control of himself masterfully.

"Good people this evening, lords and ladies, I wish now to announce tidings of great joy, for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, has asked for the hand of my valiant sister, Eowyn, and she has granted it full willing. Now they will pledge themselves before you."

Adelaide wished she had her camera handy. Faramir and Eowyn stood together, eyes shining, as they faced each other and made their engagement vows public. They looked so happy! Eomer looked fairly like the brother out of place, but he smiled and clapped, just as everyone else did, and Aragorn, the big fraud, was trying desperately to smile sternly, but it was totally obvious that he just wanted to cry out of sheer joy, for Eowyn was now so very happy, and they were now best friends. The whole scene was superb.

As Eowyn sat down again, Adelaide exchanged smiles with her. Whatever else happened in the world, friendship was the solid rock that Adelaide clung to, and she was pleased to know that it had not slipped away.

* * *

It was later that evening, when everyone was leaving the hall, that Aragorn and his Queen stopped Adelaide and, bidding Frodo to leave them in peace for a bit, took her by the hand and led her down the hallways and corridors, to speak with her. Gandalf and Elrond accompanied them, but wisely let Aragorn do the talking.

"I believe I heard you speaking this night to Frodo about your plans when you leave Middle Earth," Aragorn started.

Adelaide's throat constricted; she nodded.

"You aren't sure what to do next, are you, Adelaide?"

She shook her head.

"You feel restless to be continuing the adventure, but you know that soon you must return to the harsh reality that is America? This so-called independence, as you call it, requires you to have a job, and that, as I understand it, will enable you to earn a living. You would like to finish your schooling, too, because it is the correct thing to do, am I right?"

She swallowed, and nodded.

Aragorn sighed. "Adelaide, I am not so very well-educated in the ways of Americans, nor do I know much about your world except what you have told us, but if I may be of any assistance, and lend you my personal advice, I would tell you now that for your future, you ought to finish your schooling, and do whatever it takes for you to LIVE in America, just as you did here in Middle Earth. Life, as you have seen, even in the Shire, is not monotonous. There are new beauties and adventures to be discovered every day, if you but look for them. If you do not, they will surely come to find you, as Bilbo found out. But you must live, Adelaide. That's a command from your King. You must live. How? Anyhow. If you must go and find a job, do so, make your money, and build up a home for yourself. You must not leave Middle Earth and languish in America. I would not desire that."

Adelaide nodded.

"However," Aragorn added, with a sideways glance back at Gandalf and Elrond. "There is a small matter of your imagination. It brought you here, and I think it is quite powerful enough to bring you here again, if you will it."

"You mean I could come here again?" She brightened considerably.

"Adelaide," Gandalf said quietly. "When you bilocated, you transcended yourself in one moment of pure selflessness, and made a sacrifice for our world. You made it for love of a little hobbit, who, I happen to know, has asked you to be his wife. You have accepted his proposal. By this action alone, you have tied yourself to our land. Now, what we are about to ask is no small thing, and it requires one more reply from you. Are you willing, Adelaide, to come back time and time again, to plunge yourself into the whole of Mr. Tolkien's works, and engage yourself to our history? For if you do this, you may come back whenever you like, visit whomever you like, and so become our Friend, if you will, a sort of emissary between times."

"And you're asking me if I want to do this?" Adelaide's eyes bulged. "You're out of your mind. Of course I want to be tied to Middle Earth! I'll do anything you want, anything!"

"Well, let's not get carried away," Gandalf patted her cheek. "Now there only remains for Aragorn to do what he has to do."

"Wait, is this going to be painful?"

"Of course not, unless you manage to cut yourself while signing your name," Aragorn said. "Adelaide, I would like to adopt you. Formally. I mean, I would like to take you as my daughter, and so bring you up as a princess, a possible queen. I would not have you lurk in the shadows, as I once did, hiding my identity and my prowess. I want you to shine and be proud of who you are and what you are. I have the papers here. Will you take me as a father, and of course, Arwen as your mother?"

"Well, that DOES sound a little weird," Adelaide confessed. "I've always wondered what it would be like to live in a palace. But…but what will that make Eowyn?"

"What has Eowyn got to do with it?"

"Well, we adopted each other as sisters, so that means that you have to officially adopt Eowyn as your daughter…and Eomer as your son, so Faramir will be your son-in-law, and so will Frodo, so Faramir will be my brother-in-law, and Eowyn will be Frodo's sister-in-law. I can't think what that makes Frodo and Faramir! And it'll make Gandalf YOUR dad because I adopted him as my grandfather. So we're all one happy family. How does that work?"

Aragorn smiled helplessly and handed her the pen and paper. "It will work fine, Adelaide. Just fine."

"So now what?"

"Now, you need not fret so much about going home. When you do, you will always have the knowledge that you will be able to return whenever you like. After all, your imagination is a very powerful thing. I ask you to live, but you will always live with the knowledge that you can return, and there is no shame in that."

Adelaide smiled.

"I guess there's a plus to a fantasy world, after all!"


	24. Letters

Chapter 24

Letters

**Okay, here the story takes a twist into first person, as seen from letters of Frodo, Adelaide, and Bilbo. BTW, there is a very interesting fic of mine, if anyone would like to read it, called**_** Getting to Know You**_**, and it's all about how Eowyn and Arwen meet. It would fall somewhere between chapter 23 and 24, but I didn't want to go through all the work of getting it back into the story, so you'll have to read it separately. Sorry.**

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Dear Whomever Cares,

Aragorn told me to record my story and keep an account of my final days in Middle Earth, which I find totally unnecessary, since it will only make me cry. But for the sake of everyone's peace and happiness, I'll go ahead and jot down little notes of interest, since someday this might be a Middle Earth bestseller. Who knows?

Anyhow, do you know what that adopted father of mine did to me today? He told me that I needed to train for my position at court. Imagine! What a dumb idea, right? I mean, how do you train to be a princess? But Aragorn says I must learn the deportment and etiquette proper to my station, so now I have all these different "classes" that I have to take. Lady Arwen gave me a very charming smile. I don't like the looks of this.

* * *

My Dear Bilbo,

I suppose you are wondering when we—that is, we hobbits—are coming back to the Shire, and thus to visit you when we pass through Rivendell. I should like to return very soon, only, there is business that we must attend to first. I know—such a lot of business we've been on, and when will it be over? At least, there is business that Adelaide must attend; do you remember her? Adelaide's best friend, Eowyn of Rohan, is to wed Faramir, Captain of Gondor, and they will make their home in Ithilien, land of many fountains. Adelaide is "all over this one" as she so delightfully puts it, and so she and Eowyn are hard at work preparing for the wedding. I've never seen two people more devoted to each other, unless you could compare their friendship to that of mine and Samwise Gamgee's. He has been a true friend since the beginning, and I hope he will continue to be.

Adelaide has told me that Aragorn wishes her to stay in Minas Tirith for a few months, to become acquainted with her new station in life. You know, the King adopted Addy as his daughter, and now he wants to train her properly so that she won't run through the court room cheering on the Boston Red Sox. I highly doubt that he will be able to calm her down very much, but we shall see.

* * *

Dear Dumb Diary,

OMG, I can't believe my fucking luck. The hobbits are getting ready to go back to the Shire, and Aragorn tells me I have to stay here for a few months! Bullshit! Why should I wait any longer to be with my sweetheart? I'm not happy about this at all. On top of it, I can't believe that my "princess training" will only be a few months. I have to attend college for four years for an academic diploma; a stupid piece of paper that officially acknowledges that I went through four years of hell just to walk out into the real world and wait on tables for a living! He can't sit there and tell me that it will only take a few months to learn "deportment"! Who gives a shit? Really?

* * *

My Dear Bilbo,

I have been talking with Aragorn, and he will give us hobbits leave to depart in a week, after the wedding of Eowyn and Faramir…if only to make Adelaide happy. I wish I did not have to leave her behind in Minas Tirith, but, then, she will make the best of it, I know, and when I see her next she will be such a grand lady that I'll hardly know her. I hope that I am doing right by her, giving her the chance to spend some time learning how to be a lady of Middle Earth. I don't think she is very excited about it, but she does want to marry me, and I her.

Speaking of which, Elrond presented me with a handsome gift: a diamond ring, quite beautiful! It was given to him in a small chest of jewels which, I believe, came from the hoard of Smaug, once upon a time. Elrond was kind enough to realize that I needed a formal wedding ring for my beloved, so I must be a Ringbearer again for a little bit, though every day I should feel its box in my pocket I shall remember why it is there, and I will eagerly await my bride.

* * *

Stupid Diary,

I am going to cry. I just know it. Frodo's got a wedding ring waiting for me—I know that, too! And I want to get married soooo badly, but here's everyone else telling me to focus on "deportment." I'm just about sick of walking around and dancing around with a book on my head! But apparently I need to work on balance, and since I have two left feet, Aragorn has hired a dancing master to come teach me how to be graceful. I am not entirely happy about this, but for my dad's sake, I will try.

I have been hard at work helping Eowyn with her wedding. Arwen herself stitched the veil, and I helped Eowyn design and sew some lingerie. She had no idea what might interest Faramir, but I told her she'd look super-hot in something lacy and black, so she made a few quick sketches, and we turned out some pretty damn nice things for the honeymoon. Faramir is going to be one spoiled man! Aside from the lingerie, though, I put in my two cents about everything else Eowyn wants. I had no idea I was such a wedding planner; I seem to have a knack for planning events and making sure they happen. Eowyn and I always loved to plan parties…

There, I'm going to cry again. I can't help it. She's going to be married in a few days, and off with Faramir, and the hobbits are leaving after the wedding, and I'm going to be stuck with Aragorn and Arwen in this crazy city. Not that I don't like it, but I want to go home to the Shire. I miss it so much.

* * *

My Dear Bilbo,

The wedding is over, and very soon we will come to see you. On our last day in the city, Aragorn presented us with gifts, and bade us farewell—I'll swear even that he shed a tear or two. I think, in part, he was very sad to see us go. But the time had come to leave.

Adelaide took it hard. She promised me that as soon as she could, she'd escape through her bedroom window by tying sheets together, and she'd run all the way to the Shire, barefoot if she had to.

"You must stay here for a bit and learn your lessons," I tried to comfort her. "It is what I ask of you, beloved. Would you deny me?"

She shook her head and mumbled, "No." Then, "But I'd certainly deny Aragorn." I laughed and told her that it was only a few months, and she might learn a lot within three months, but she cried on my shoulder and insisted that she wouldn't learn a single thing. If truth be told, I do not wish to leave her. I don't like being so far from her side. But something, whether by Tolkien's will or another force stronger than mine, calls me back to the Shire. This is how it is meant to be. Adelaide knows it, too, although she certainly made quite a fuss.

My Adelaide! The last glimpse I had of her was at the gate; she waved goodbye and then raced inside. I saw her standing upon the tower, her hair blowing in the breeze, her arm waving crazily back and forth. I'm sure she blew kisses to me, too. Already I miss her. I can say nothing more.

* * *

Diary,

Today was the worst day of my life. I won't say that yesterday was, because Eowyn and Faramir got married, and I am so happy for them; I can't ever be mad while my best friend is so happy. I'm a little on the jealous side, I will admit, 'cause I want to be married, too, but my time is coming, I guess. Just not now. The wedding of absolutely gorgeous. Eowyn looked positively glamorous in her gown; we picked a design out of the online David's Bridal catalogue and sewed it ourselves. She radiated, and Faramir glowed. Together they'll be two little stars in a universe full of other stars that shine. They're off to Rohan for a honeymoon; Faramir's never been there before.

But today is the worst day of my life because everyone has left me. Eowyn and Faramir have a perfect excuse, but I wish that the hobbits might have stayed longer. Missing the Shire is no excuse to abandon your fiancé! And then, on top of it all, Legolas and Gimli left to go explore—get this—first the caves of Helm's Deep, and then Fangorn Forest! I cried for hours, let me tell you! All the excitement has died down a bit, and all the Fellowship has dissolved like water into air. It isn't fair.

Legolas did kiss me on the lips before he left. I felt uncomfortable, letting him do it, but I don't know if I will ever see him again. I think I might have loved him, if Frodo hadn't been around. He is handsome and strong and very sweet; deep down inside that shell of pride and honor is a creature of deep feelings and true loyalty. I think he might have made a good husband, even a good father. But Frodo still trumps him.

"Before you leave for your home of homes," Legolas whispered to me. "Please come by to Mirkwood and visit me once, to bid farewell. I would take the memory I have of you to Valinor and beyond. When I cross the sea—and I will, someday soon—I will take you with me, in my heart, and whenever you should return, you will find me waiting for you. I have always loved you, my lady, and I always will."

I didn't tell him that I loved him, too. The kind of love I have for him—and HAD for him—was the lust of a girl who missed the physical presence of a loving man. I could never go into a relationship with anyone knowing that I would only use them so cruelly. That sin would haunt me as much as a betrayal. I have discovered too much about myself to walk in ignorance any more, or use it as an excuse.

Anyway, I'm soooo tired right now. Tomorrow I begin Princess Deportment 101. Let's hope I can graduate as the Valedictorian of my class, eh?

* * *

My Dear Bilbo,

Seeing you again was the highlight of our journey home. I'm glad that we made it back on time to celebrate your 129th birthday. Thank you for giving me the Red Book; I will do what I can to polish up my notes and give a credible account of the tale of the Ring and events afterwards.

The Fourth Age of Middle Earth has begun, and the Fellowship of the Ring, though eternally bound by friendship and love, is ended. Thirteen months to the day that Gandalf sent us on our long journey, we found ourselves looking upon a familiar sight. We were home. The Proudfeet gazed at us, astonished, as we paraded past in our colorful garments, smiling and giving him good-morning's, but he did not seem to be in a good mood, as usual, and merely shook his head, wondering how we got to be so dressed up in fine livery.

The very first place we visited was our good old Green Dragon Inn, and I purchased drinks for my friends. As we sat down, we watched the festivities around us, and we felt saddened in our hearts. The simple-minded folk were comparing vegetables, and speaking of things they could understand, but after all our adventures in lands far beyond, and our activities in war and life and death, we could not participate as we once did. So we drank a toast to ourselves.

Not long after this toast, Sam looked up beyond our shoulders, and then took another draught before getting up and walking over to where Rosie Cotton stood cleaning mugs. To our surprise and amazement, Sam nearly broke the bar in reaching over to boldly kiss Rosie upon the lips, practically pulling her over to give her a good dip. Dear Sam! He and Rosie were married this summer, and would you know it? Pippin caught the floral bouquet.

Later, I stood in Bag End and sipped my tea, unable to think of much else except the adventures I had had, and my darling Adelaide, who was elsewhere within the borders of this land. I won't lie when I say that I miss her very much, and that I want to marry her with all my heart.

How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand…there is no going back? There are some things that cannot mend, some hurts that go too deep, that have taken hold. I cannot forget the wounding upon Weathertop, nor my failure to throw the Ring away. I cannot turn back the clock and mend, but I hope that, with Adelaide's return, there might be some hope left. She is late coming back, now gone for almost a full year. I do not doubt that she would keep her promise, but something must be amiss. Do write me if you hear word of her.

* * *

My Dearest Frodo,

Having heard your plea for news of your fiancé, I personally sent a message to Aragorn, who assures me that Adelaide is in good health and doing marvelously at her lessons…in fact, aside from astronomy, which she hates, she has made a miraculous change in many ways. Aragorn swears that he's turned her into an Elf, which I find very hard to believe, if she hates astronomy!

Aragorn has given Adelaide leave to come see you at once. He above all others understands young lovers' needs, and wishes you both every joy and happiness. I, too, send my congratulations. I believe you've found a very rare and darling young woman to be your wife. I always said she was precisely what you needed to get out of the humdrums. She may have her faults, granted, but if she remained true during that entire time you were away, she's a woman worth keeping. Give her all my love, and treat her always like a lady. For she is one, Frodo. She is very much a lady.

* * *

My Darling Frodo,

I'm so sorry that none of my letters have reached you. I thought that using Tree Herders as mailmen might be a good idea, but obviously their motto of "don't be hasty" DOES apply to postal service. So I have sent this letter to you via Gwahir and Gandalf, and I hope that works a lot faster.

Aragorn is very cross at the moment, but I think it's because he does not want to let me go. He's very sentimental, and I know he's been very much attached to me, ever since he rescued me in the Shire. Do you remember that night of Bilbo's 111th birthday, when I ran out on you and got lost in the forest? It was Aragorn who picked me up and took me to Adelard's hole, where he thought I'd be safe. I'm glad that I trusted him. It makes our friendship so much dearer.

Anyway, by the time you receive this letter, I will be in Bree and waiting to cross the Brandywine. Don't worry about my safety; I have my sword for protection. Did I ever tell you? My extra months spent away from you was time spent practicing my defenses. Aragorn wanted me to learn how to use different weapons, for if I come back to Middle Earth at different times, I'll need to know everything about swords and crossbows and other interesting, sharp devices. I'm proud to say that I've become very handy, more so than I originally believed. It seems that I AM capable of doing anything I set my mind to.

I think my only downer for Princess Deportment 101 was astronomy. I can read maps, I've learned my letters and runes, and I can speak a little Quenyan, as Lady Arwen has been teaching me, but I cannot navigate by the stars, nor can I ever remember which signs are which and how to identify them. I'd make a horrible Elf, don't you think?

There is so much to tell you. If you find me changed, blame that on my dance-master. I think I learned just about every form of dance possible in Middle Earth, although I think I'd give cold hard cash to learn pole-dancing, just for the naughty fun of it! Even Lady Arwen says that I'm much more graceful in myself, and not such a klutz, if ever I was one before. But aside from that, I can't wait to come home. I mean, to you. I miss Bag End and you and everyone else, and I want to be with you more than anything else in the world. Be watching for me soon, for it won't take but a day or so to get to where you are, and then have that bed ready because I'm going to want to either sleep or make love. Whichever.

Love,

Your Adelaide


	25. There's No Place Like Home

Chapter 25

There's No Place Like Home

**Okay, if you love Adelaide the way I do, you'll keep a box of tissues handy because finishing this last chapter actually made me cry, even though I know that I'm going to bring her back for another adventure. Enjoy this last chapter of the trilogy, and review me! Thank you so much for journeying with me through this story, encouraging me and supporting me!**

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Frodo was hard at work in his study when a sharp pain nailed him right in an old wound in his shoulder. He winced and rubbed at it, feeling the scar there.

Sam came in, looking worried. "Mr. Frodo? What's wrong?"

"It's been four years to the day since Weathertop, Sam. It's never really healed." Frodo continued to rub at the lancing pain.

_Frodo, where are we going?_

_You'll see, my love, you'll see._

_Twilight, the forest, stars overhead, warm evening settling over the earth. A moonlit glade, a soft patch of earth, surrounded by trees and a tangle of ivy, white flowers, and other creeping woodland foliage. He has a soft white blanket in his arms, and he's wearing the clothes he wore on the way to Mordor—washed and patched. He asked her to wear a beautiful gown, so she brought out the gown Arwen Undomiel sewed for her: white, with soft gems along with sleeves and hem. She looks so beautiful. _

"Frodo? Are you okay?" Adelaide came into the room and rubbed her husband's good shoulder gently. "Want some tea, love?"

"That would suit me fine, Addy."

"Mint or chamomile?"

"Mint, please. You have such a way of brewing it."

_Gandalf is waiting for them. She gets the hint immediately. He takes her hand, and Gandalf places his withered one over them both, clasping them together. He watches her face. She is excited; she has no regrets. Neither has he. _

_There is a prayer to Illuvatar. A blessing cup, a unity candle. He slips a ring on her finger, and she gives him one provided by Gandalf. An exchange of vows. The final kiss. Then Gandalf leaves. They are alone. He spreads out the blanket._

"How's the book coming?" Adelaide called from the kitchen.

"He's finished it," Sam called back. "_There and Back Again: A Hobbit's Tale, by Bilbo Baggins_, _and The Lord of the Rings, by Frodo Baggins_."

"There's room for a little more, Sam," Frodo said.

Adelaide appeared on hand with the tea and gave it to her husband. "You know," she said presently. "I've been thinking that I want to come back next in time to go on the adventure with Bilbo. That would just rock my socks, being able to go meet Smaug. And this time, I'm bringing my camera."

_Come, my beloved. _

_She lets him undress her. Nobody is there to invade their privacy. They make love on the white blanket, and for the first time she lets him fully penetrate her. She bites a piece of the blanket to stifle her screams; it hurts, at first. She feels small and helpless beneath him, but he is gentle and kind, and once inside, he lets her calm down and get used to him before riding her. She crosses her legs over his back and arches up to meet him. The flood of his seed inside her feels so right, so complete. There is a giving and a receiving. The beauty of the act is fulfilled. _

Adelaide stirred her own cup of tea, feeling restless inside. She had returned to the Shire in early August, and during those early weeks Frodo had arranged the wedding and honeymoon himself. The whole affair had been very quiet, and of all those that lived in the Shire, only Sam and Rosie were aware that there was now a Mrs. Baggins living at Bag End. Adelaide did not mind. She was perfectly happy and content to be with Frodo; so long as she was with him, she never felt bored or dull.

At the same time…

Adelaide put a hand over her stomach, winced, and felt queasy. Mentally, she calculated backwards, and then glanced down at her tea-cup. When she looked up again, there were two Rosie Gamgees walking up the path. Good Lord. Adelaide promised herself she would not faint, and promptly opened the door.

"Rose, Rose! So good to see you; come on in and have some tea. We were just brewing it up. Sam's in the study with Frodo; they're looking over the book." Adelaide took Rosie's arm, more for stability for herself than for social graces, and led her into the study. Sam came up and embraced his wife fondly, kissing her cheek.

"Where's Elanor?" Adelaide looked around.

"Oh, my little muffin is taking a nap with Grandpa Gaffer," Rosie laughed. "The two of them get along so splendidly; they both eat together and nap together, and both of them tend to complain when they don't get their way!"

"Rosie, you've got to let me come over to babysit sometime, if you and Sam ever want to go for a moonlit stroll. And bring Elanor over anytime you like! We'd love to have her."

"I think _you_ would love to have her," Rosie winked at Adelaide, who blushed. As the Gamgees left for their own little hole, Frodo came up and put his arm around his wife, cuddling her. Adelaide blinked. Two months since last period, lack of appetite, new desire to cuddle everything small and adorable, morning queasiness…

"I want my mommy," Adelaide announced.

"That's strange you should mention that," Frodo said. "Because I was thinking something along similar lines." She looked at him quickly, and he smiled at her tenderly. "My dearest, darling lass. Do you know what day it is?"

"September 10th," Adelaide struggled not to pitch forward. "Twelve days to your birthday. What would you like?" _You're going to get something anyway_, she thought_. Whether you want it or not. But then, why wouldn't you? Isn't this what we've talked about, some nights after making love? And I won't mind it. I've dreamed of it. But good God, nobody ever told me it felt like this_.

"I think," Frodo said lightly. "That I would like to take a trip. You and I. And Bilbo, too. I think…I think it is about that time, Adelaide."

"Time for what?" _Time for me to find the bathroom, now_…

Frodo held up a letter. "We have been invited, Adelaide, to do a bit of sailing."

"Sailing?" _Oh God, just what I need on top of this, seasickness_…

"You know what my future is, Adelaide. Mr. Tolkien wrote it down. Do you remember what he says about a last trip? A final journey?"

A Journey! The lightbulb clicked on, and so did a thousand other thoughts. Good God, she had twelve days to get all her affairs in order. _And find the bathroom! Now!_

Frodo was very confused when his wife broke from him and ran for the bathroom, but he was too slow in walking over to hear her retching into a bucket. He waited patiently for her, but when she started sniffling, he attempted to talk.

"I know it must upset you…you've been here so long and made so many connections. It feels strange, now, having to uproot you like this…do you remember how you behaved when you first came to the Shire? You were very angry at being here, and did not want to stay, and now you don't want to go! Life is funny, isn't it, sweetheart? Adelaide? Are you alright?"

She wasn't sure how to announce the news. It was not a proper thing, to smack your husband with a two-by-four and then leave on a twelve-day trip to say good-bye to your friends properly. When she came out, all she could manage was a very weak smile. "I…I understand," she stammered. "It…it just happened really suddenly, that's all. I…I need some time to go and…well, I want to say good-bye, and…and settle some affairs in Gondor…and Rohan…" She did not tell him she intended to go to Mirkwood, too, to say good-bye to Legolas. Frodo would never understand that issue, and there was no sense in getting him all jealous over the situation, either.

"You're very pale, darling! Wouldn't you like to rest, first? Come, let's lay down for a bit, enjoy our time together while we can. You just came home two months ago."

She gave in for that night.

* * *

_My Dearest Father,_

_I think the time has come for Frodo and I to bid good-bye to Middle Earth. We both knew our hour was approaching. Frodo has accepted his lot contentedly, but I, as you can imagine, am very unhappy. I don't want to leave. I love you and all my friends so much, and I have grown so used to the sound of your voices that I can hardly believe our adventure together is over. _

_I regret to say that I cannot stop by Minas Tirith to say good-bye. Frodo wants to spend as much time with me as possible. However, Gandalf has arranged for me to fly out on Gwahir to see Eowyn and Faramir, as I hear they have a little child already, and I cannot even dream of leaving Middle Earth without saying good-bye to my best friend. I hope you don't take too much offense…we'll probably meet again when I come back, anyway. You're the guy who lives, like, almost forever. I can see you whenever I want. Eowyn isn't so fortunate. I have to favor her above you. Sorry._

_I want you to know that I love you very much, and Queen Arwen, too, and of course Eldarion, your son, whom I wish I could have babysat just once. I hear he's a little cutie. Watch him, or he'll charm more hearts than he'll know what to do with! Anyway, please give my love to Eomer, too, if you can send him word. I know that if I try to visit him and say good-bye personally, he'll strap me to a chair. Poor man, he loves me so much; I know he'll take my going so hard! Give him what comfort you can, and lay a rose on Theoden's tomb also for me. When those friends of mine pass away, as I know they will in your time, please give them my love and also a red rose; promise them, from me, that I will come back again to see them someday. _

_Until we meet again, Ranger-Man, I have been and remain ever yours,_

_Adelaide _

_PS—Please give Eldarion a puppy when he turns twelve, and tell him I sent it._

_

* * *

_

"Tell me, my lad…where are we going?"

"To the harbor, Bilbo. The Elves have accorded you an honor aboard the last ship of Middle Earth."

"Ooh-my." Bilbo, by this time, really was looking ancient; his tired eyes peeped out from between vast folds and wrinkles, and his hair was white as snow. He sat in the carriage beside Frodo, who was dressed neatly, his Elven cloak pinned about his shoulders. Gandalf, cloaked all in white, drove the carriage silently, keeping an eye on Merry, Pippin, and Sam, who forged ahead on their ponies.

"Tell me, lad…any chance of seeing that old ring of mine? The one I gave to you?" Bilbo's hushed, gravelly voice was like a timid child's. Frodo's mind rushed back upon the many adventures he had had, and could only think of one excuse:

"I'm sorry uncle. I'm afraid I lost it."

"Oh? Mm, well, that's too bad. Pity. I should have liked to hold it again, one last time…" and with that, he fell asleep on Frodo's shoulder. Frodo, in his turn, placed his cheek against Bilbo's head, and closed his eyes, thinking of his new bride who would meet him there at the havens.

And as they broke through the forests and the little lanes through the hills and meadows, they saw there at the end the vast and beautiful sea, the water sparkling as with diamonds as the setting sun played upon that golden goblet's brim. The cry of the gulls echoed in their hearts as they dismounted and stared. Such a lovely sight was before them as they saw the pretty little harbor, in which was anchored a small white ship. And as all five hobbits walked towards it, they saw that there were figures who stood by this ship: Elrond of Rivendell, Queen Galadriel of the Elves, and her husband Celeborn. More beautiful than anything else did they appear, under that setting sun, near to the water, and a great burden of loneliness settled in the hearts of the hobbits, as they looked upon those noble people.

"Oh my!" Bilbo's eyes opened up wider than saucers. "Well! Here's a sight that I've never seen before!"

Galadriel stepped forward, her white hood thrown over her head, a dazzling sort of excitement in her eyes. She spoke clearly, with the words of one who is still wise, but the hobbits thought that she seemed very excited, like a child about to do something for the first time.

"The power of the three rings is over," she said. "The time has come for the dominion of men."

Elrond, standing beside Celeborn, smiled, and spoke in his Elven tongue.

"The sea calls us home."

He spread out his arms, and Bilbo kind of shook, his white hair trembling with excitement. Suddenly, he was the fifty-year-old hobbit again, with a taste for adventure, dragons, treasure, dwarves, Elves, barrels…and whatever Gollums life had in store for him.

"I think I'm quite ready for another adventure!" he exclaimed gleefully, and hobbled on down to the gangplank where he was invited first aboard the ship. Elrond followed, and then Celeborn. Next in line was Galadriel; she gave the hobbits a look of pure happiness, radiated from the core of her Elvish being, and then she lightly stepped aboard, seating herself gracefully. Then Gandalf, the last one, came and stood before the hobbits, a sad smile upon his face.

"Farewell," he said softly. "My work is now finished. Here at last, on the shores of the sea, ends our Fellowship."

The hobbits suddenly understood what he was saying, and they looked at each other, tears in their eyes. Pippin, above all, was crying the hardest, his face twisted in pain. Sam seemed as though he had been stabbed, and Merry was so shocked that he did not say anything; he only looked at Gandalf with awe and wonder. The wizard smiled tenderly.

"I will not say, 'do not weep,' for not all tears are evil," he said. And then, like a grandfather would, he nodded to them in blessing, and turned, walking straight and true towards the ship. But as he reached the gangplank, he stopped and turned, holding out his hand.

"It is time, Frodo."

For a moment, the hobbits registered nothing. Then, one by one, they turned to stare at their friend, who was coming forward slightly, a soft look of wonder upon his face. He seemed almost reluctant to go, and yet he knew that he could not stay. There were as yet too many hurts he had undergone, and too many evils which he had endured, to stay in Middle Earth. He could not go back to the life he had originally been leading in the Shire.

"What does he mean?" Sam breathed. Frodo turned to him.

"We set out to save the Shire, Sam," he said softly. "And it has been saved. But not for me."

"You don't mean that!" Sam's throat clogged, as tears blurred his eyes. He barely knew what he was saying or doing. "You can't leave!"

Frodo took the red book from underneath his jacket and handed it to Sam, who took it as if it was a precious relic.

"The last pages are for you, Sam," Frodo told his friend. And then he turned to Merry, who was really breaking down by this time. The two of them embraced heartily, and then Pippin received likewise. And then, when Took and Brandybuck had had their good-byes, Frodo turned to Sam again, and there was recorded the longest, bitterest parting of them all, the hug and embrace that was noted by all to be the saddest ever in the history of Middle Earth. Their grip did not seem to want to end, these two hobbit friends who had been through good times and bad times together. They had been to hell and back, and now it was time for heaven.

He kissed his friend once on top of his head, and then turned to go. But something made him pause, and turn. Those in the ship stood, awaiting the last of their party.

Adelaide Edessa was fashionably late, though she didn't mean to be. Her horse trotted down the slope, and she dismounted, coming over to where everyone stood. She wore a gown that was familiar to her alone; Eowyn had worn it in the days before Grima Wormtongue, when the two girls had played in the Golden Hall together, danced together, and baked cookies for Eomer. Adelaide now looked much older, but to Frodo, she was still the same lass who had attracted his attention while standing on a ladder to dust the mantel in Bag End.

"I'm sorry I'm a little late," she apologized, her voice cracking slightly.

"We're ready for you, Adelaide," Gandalf said gently. "Your little trunk is already aboard; it has everything precious that you must take with you from this world to the other."

She nodded and turned to look at the hobbits. Oh, now she was really going to cry. Parting, for her, was the bitterest cup. Saying good-bye to Eowyn had been the hardest thing in her life; now she wanted to roll over and die at the feet of these hobbits whom she had come to know and love so very much. Oh, why did all this parting have to happen? Why did all good things have to come to an end? It wasn't fair.

"I have been trying for months now to cheer myself up with the knowledge that I can return," she knelt down and told the hobbits. "But every time I do, I end up crying…like I'm about to do right now."

A siege of hobbit hugs drowned out any other words she had, and she ended up crying on Pippin's shoulder, getting his cape all wet. When she finally picked herself off the ground, she looked a complete disaster, but then she turned, faced her husband, and walked towards the ship with determination. She looked up at Gandalf.

"Do NOT give me that look, Gandalf, I'll start crying again, and I don't want to cry anymore, I hate all this, I just hate it…"

"My dear girl, I wish you wouldn't say such things. You will come back and see us, I know you will. You must. Why! Are you frightened?"

"Terrified."

"Don't be. Frodo will hold your hand to the very end, I promise."

"This is so painful, I feel like I'm dying inside."

"Nonsense," Gandalf gave his familiar snort. "Nothing of the kind, you silly girl. Now get on board, and stop all this crying. You look horrid with such red eyes."

She chuckled, and ended up crying again. But she boarded, and Frodo sat down beside her, and they both cuddled tightly for support. They looked back at Merry, Pippin, and Sam on the shore, and Frodo gave a smile, but Adelaide could only sniff and wave; she was so unhappy.

The ship weighed anchor.

Then it sailed off between the twin cliffs that led to the open ocean, where the sun touched the water with the caress of a man to a woman. A delightful blend of aromatic odors filled the air, and it seemed that rain was far off below the clouds in the distance, but this was drawn back as a curtain of silk gauze is, and the hobbits stood in awe. They saw the ship as it passed from their sight, and then all was silent.

Merry and Pippin rode home together in silence, through the old forests they knew so well, and at last came to their homes where they exchanged stories and wept aloud together at the loss of their friends. But Sam traveled on home by foot, and there at the gate he met his beloved Rosie, and his daughter Elanor came out to meet him, crying, "Daddy! Daddy!"

Then Sam looked about him, at the Shire which was his home, and the sky was blue, and his heart was lighter.

"Well," said he. "I'm back."

* * *

_They rode upon the softest waves, and it seemed days that the trip lasted, but at last a silver curtain parted, and Frodo clutched his wife's hand. She was so afraid. But it seemed that even as he put his soft, downy arms about her, and whispered sweetly into her ear, Gandalf, Elrond, Galadriel, and Celeborn came forward and held onto her as well, and she felt the arms of the Fellowship around her. And all the hobbits of the Shire whispered into her ear, and she felt the rough stubble of Aragorn's beard as he tickled her cheek and kissed her temple, embracing her as a father. And she felt the broad arms of Gimli, and heard his laughter; she felt the touch of Legolas' hand slide over her and comfort her; she heard his Elvish voice again, and she was soothed. She heard Treebeard's lulling voice, and then Eowyn's laughter as she embraced her dear friend. Then Theoden was there, holding her, and Hama and Gamling, and Eomer, and all of Rohan's soldiers. She felt the warm hands of Boromir and Faramir, and even Grima Wormtongue's hand touched her own, very shyly. On her other hand she felt a small breath, like the passing touch of Smeagol, and Arwen's hand was upon her head, and Haldir was stroking the cheek he had slapped once before. But Frodo did not leave her. Frodo remained constant._

"Oh Frodo, for God's sake, I'm going to have your baby!" Adelaide's voice was lost on the wind. "Gandalf, I'm so scared, I don't know what to do, don't leave me…"

_Aragorn laughed merrily. The Fellowship squeezed her tightly. And then Frodo's lips melded with hers as his words came across to her in the air like a night breeze:_

"_I will never forget you. I promise, Adelaide."_

"_I will come back to you. You have my word."_

_

* * *

_

"Hey."

The policeman shook the girl who lay in the car, curled up in a ball, wrapped in a thermal heating blanket, oblivious to the fact that she had left her doors unlocked. She was slumbering peacefully, an expression of bliss on her face so delightful, that the man had to wonder whether or not she was dreaming about some lover-boy of hers. Or maybe it was something different. His own wife didn't look like that if they were making out on a Saturday night. Hesitantly, he reached out and gently shook her shoulder again.

"Hey, miss, wake up, please."

She gave a slight groan and blinked sleepily, opening her eyes and peering up at the uniformed officer with a dazed expression. She had apparently been sleeping the entire night, but rules were rules, after all, and—

He stopped thinking to himself and smiled gently at her, as her eyes flashed open in a sudden realization, and she opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a sob. Startled, he reached in and tried to help her out, but all she could do was clutch the steering wheel and cry for a good fifteen minutes. Then she sniffed, blew her nose, and looked up at him with…was that relief in her eyes? He was used to terror and nervousness, but this was the first time he had ever experienced relief in someone's eyes.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked gently, sitting down beside her. "You alright?"

She nodded, swallowing, her eyes brimming with gratitude.

"Okay, hon, if you're finished, could I please see your driver's license, proof of insurance, and your ID?"

She fished everything out of her purse as if by magic, giving them to him and nodding almost encouragingly. The officer looked everything over and nodded.

"Okay, hon, or Miss Edessa…did you know it's illegal to park here? This is a highway, and you just can't pull over and sleep whenever you want."

"Oh?" said the girl, looking confused. She peered out the window, and sudden realization struck her face. "Oh…I…I'm very sorry, sir. I had no idea I was driving on a highway; you see, it was getting dark, and I was so tired. I couldn't see whether it was a highway or not. I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"Just a verbal warning," he said gently. "I don't think a fine or anything is necessary. Wouldn't want to worry your husband, would you?"

She started to protest, to say that she hadn't any husband, but then she noticed where he was looking at. His gaze was fastened upon the diamond ring upon her left wedding ring finger, exactly where Frodo had put it that lovely night so long ago, when they exchanged vows—her bind into a world that this man would never know. She glanced up at him.

"No…I wouldn't want him to worry in the least."

The policeman stared at her. There was something funny about her eyes that just held him captive, but they weren't extraordinarily beautiful, or anything like that. It was as if they were the deep pools of knowledge and wisdom, gained over a period of a thousand years. It was what soldiers had in their eyes after fighting overseas. It was what pictures of saints had in their eyes during ecstasies. It was the look of an old woman, filled with years of knowledge, pain, beauty, love, wisdom, and other things that made the earth older than humans knew it to be. He found that he could not tear his gaze away.

Finally, she blinked, and there in the place of the sage was a young lady who was rubbing her stomach, a look of helplessness in her eyes.

"Sir, could you please direct me to the nearest Burger King? I'm starving."

* * *

**Epilogue**

Seven months later, in a low-income-affordable apartment, with two jobs and a miraculous college degree, Adelaide Edessa held her son Samwise Gamgee Baggins in her arms. The road down those seven months had been the hardest in her life, but she was certain life would improve as only she could make it happen. It was her duty to live and take care of the gift her husband had left. It was her sign that she could return when she wanted, and she would return…once Sam was old enough, she would take him and show him off proudly to all of Middle Earth.

She rocked him gently back and forth, humming first, and then breaking out into song, a lullaby. Her mind was far away, across the green fields of Rohan and the breathtaking views from Minas Tirith, over the world of men and off to the forests where the Elves dwelt, and from there, she went and placed her heart in the Shire.

She would definitely return.

"_Lay down_

_your sweet and weary head_

_night is falling_

_you have come to journey's end_

_sleep now_

_and dream of the ones who came before_

_they are calling from across the distant shore._

_Why do you weep?_

_What are these tears upon your face?_

_Soon you will see_

_All of your fears will pass away!_

_Safe in my arms_

_You're only sleeping._

_What can you see on the horizon?_

_Why do the white gulls call?_

_Across the sea a pale moon rises!_

_The ships have come to carry you home!_

_Hope fades into the world of night_

_Through shadows falling_

_Out of memory and time_

_Don't say_

_We have come now to the end_

_White shores are calling_

_You and I will meet again_

_And you'll be here in my arms just sleeping._

_What can you see on the horizon?_

_Why do the white gulls call?_

_Across the sea a pale moon rises!_

_The ships have come to carry you home!_

_And all will turn to silver glass_

_A light on the water_

_All souls pass_

_Into the West."_


End file.
